Hardest of Hearts
by ladycobert
Summary: While his parents push him toward the rich Miss Whitlock, Patrick Crawley realizes he's still head over heels for his childhood friend Violet.
1. For an old friend

A/N: I'm sorry (not sorry) - I couldn't resist some early Vipat. **_Additional A/N: I changed the date. I have my reasons. You shall see._**

* * *

Spring, 1858

Patrick's parents introduced him to her at the first ball of the Season, then wandered off – as if their son wouldn't notice. As they began to chat, Patrick surreptitiously eyed the young woman he'd heard so much about. The styles that year tended toward bell-shaped skirts and small, puffed sleeves off the shoulder. The neckline of her bodice dipped into a demure V-shape, and the white satin suited her skin tone. _Pretty enough_, he judged, and her voice reminded him of a burgundy wine, a crisp, white Chablis. However, as he requested a set of dances (knowing his parents, the Earl and Countess of Grantham, would ask him if he had – and send him back to her if he hadn't), he saw something behind her eyes he didn't like. Furthermore, as she scribbled his name, "Lord Downton," upon her dance card, he ascertained a lack of enthusiasm from the lady.

Bowing, he took his leave of her until their first dance. A footman passed by with glasses of wine, and Patrick stopped him and lifted a glass from the tray. He glanced around and breathed a sigh of relief to see his parents occupied with some "important" friends of theirs. The evening had just begun, and already Patrick longed to be anywhere but here.

"Downton!"

He turned and smiled when he beheld the laughing face of his friend. "Middleton! Confound it, I thought you were still in Spain or India or somewhere!" Patrick clapped a hand upon the much shorter man's shoulder.

Middleton shook his head and waved a hand for a drink. Upon its delivery, he took a long swig. "Eh, although similar in many ways, as you can see, I am in neither. Unless, of course, I am an apparition meant to haunt you." He let out a booming laugh, then said, "I am back here in London. My parents –" he rolled his eyes dramatically – "insisted I return for the Season. A more frivolous or useless exercise I could never imagine."

Patrick chuckled. "I understand. I, too, had to end my travels for this ridiculous exercise. You'd think at twenty they'd leave us be for a while." Draining his glass, he gestured a footman over and traded his empty glass for a full one.

"Heirs we are, Downton, more's the pity for us." The sandy-haired man gulped down a good third of his drink before rudely pointing to a girl across the room. "You see that raven-haired beauty there? The one in the bright blue gown?"

Turning a bit to see the girl his friend indicated, Patrick let out a low whistle. "Yes. The one with the brown eyes."

"You can see that from here?" Middleton squinted.

"No, you daft sot. I asked her for a dance or two when we first arrived. I saw then." He rolled his eyes.

Middleton chortled. "Well played. Snow White, I call her. The fairest of them all she is, too. However, her family already have their hearts set on her marrying some duke." He let out a deep sigh. "I met her last autumn in France, whilst she was there with her family on holiday, and I can't stop thinking about her."

Shrugging, Patrick sipped his wine. "Just because her family have their hearts set on her marrying a duke, doesn't mean she does. I mean, for God's sake, man, you're going to be a marquess, and you're rich as Croesus." Lowering his voice, Patrick stepped closer to his friend. "Do you even know her name, Middleton? Does she know really who you are?"

"Of course I do, Downton!" A deep crease appeared upon Middleton's brow. "She's Lady Harriet, and we've been secretly corresponding. She even allowed me to steal a kiss from her." He trained his eyes upon his Snow White and grinned at the memory.

"Must be nice to like someone like that," Patrick mumbled, tipping the remaining contents of his glass down his throat. "My parents have been introducing me to women left and right. But they have one in particular in mind." He nodded in the young lady's direction.

Middleton moved his eyes reluctantly from Lady Harriet to the other woman. "Well, she's a lovely thing, isn't she?" he said generously.

"But, Middleton, I have my own expectations, my own hopes too. And she doesn't quite fit them." Patrick felt as if he were complaining. Perhaps he was. But he thought Middleton, of all people, would understand.

And his friend nodded, sighing. "Yes. I know." The musicians struck a few chords for the first dance. "Who's first on your card?"

Patrick plucked it from his pocket and brought it close enough to read. "Miss Georgiana Wellesley." He cast a bored look at Middleton. "I hope I remember which one is her. I don't think I really want to marry any of them, but I'm not so horrible as to want to embarrass any of them."

Rolling his eyes, the blond man read off his own dance card, "Lady Jane Rochester."

"Ah. Yes. Have a nice time with that one. I hope she doesn't talk your ear off."

"Thanks, Downton." He laughed and put his glass down to seek out his partner, waving a hand behind him.

Patrick found the tiny brunette in a corner; she blushed as he extended a hand to her. "Miss Wellesley?"

"Lord Downton," she acknowledged, bowing her head and taking his hand to be led onto the dance floor.

As they danced the first dance of the evening, Patrick found his eyes wandering about the room. Miss Wellesley had her own sort of charm, and he didn't mind dancing with her, but he longed to be free again. When he'd realized his all-too-short time for adventuring drew to a close, he'd sent telegrams to Downton Abbey, begging his father to let him loose for another year. There was still so much to see and do. He hadn't seen the entire British Empire yet. He'd never been to America. He hadn't sailed to India or Egypt. Europe had been exciting, and he felt fortunate to have seen so much of it, but there was more to do. So much of his life he'd be duty-bound, stuck. He didn't see why he had to begin so early.

After he'd returned home a few weeks ago – just in time to get ready to come to London for the new Season – his father had sat him down and had a long "chat" with him about growing up, getting situated, married, and about really learning what it would be like to be Earl of Grantham. Patrick had grumbled, hating all of it.

And then his father had asked him if he had a problem with women.

Taken aback, Patrick had simply stared at his father for a while. "A problem with women?" he'd sputtered out, blinking at the gray-haired man in front of him.

"Yes, son. A problem with women. You do _like_ women, don't you?" He'd eyed his son askance.

Did he _like_ women? Patrick colored a trifle and shook his head vehemently against the insinuation once he'd realized what his father meant. "Of course I do, Papa. I merely wanted to travel another year – see things, do things."

As his father harrumphed and got up to pour a drink, Patrick stared at the library carpet. Did he _like_ women? Women fascinated him, intrigued him. He enjoyed being around them, talking to them. He loved conversing with intelligent women in particular. Sometimes he would even connect with a woman – young or old, it didn't matter – and be attracted to her. But he'd never come across anyone who'd gotten under his skin quite like –

And, all of a sudden, at the very end of the first dance, interrupting even his thoughts, he saw her. She was unmistakable – red hair and ice-blue eyes, high cheekbones and porcelain complexion.

The Honorable Miss Violet Barton.

Ushering Miss Wellesley from the floor, Patrick made his way to Miss Violet Barton. She wore a gown of deep purple, her carefully curled and braided coiffure adorned with dark purple flowers. The last time he'd seen her had been years before, her auburn locks falling down her back, her eyes snapping at him – teasing him, challenging him. Her parents – a baron and his wife - had been long time friends of his parents, their small estate not too far outside of their county. Little Violet and her siblings, along with her mother and father, had spent some time at Downton. Violet was a third daughter, but only a few years his junior. He'd taught her to ride a horse, he remembered, and she'd – well, she'd always given him something to think about.

Of course, in the years since they'd last met, what he'd thought about was her.

"Violet," he said, his voice breathier than he meant it to be. The knot of friends around her scattered before him.

"Lord Downton," she returned, pulling herself up straighter in his presence.

Patrick felt his heart drop into his stomach, and his forehead puckered in slight confusion. "Don't you remember me? We used to play as children. I taught you to ride –"

"Yes," Violet interrupted. "I remember. But we're no longer children, my lord." She lowered her lashes in modesty, but put her hand out to him.

Taking it, he kissed the back of her glove. "No. I suppose we aren't, Miss Barton." His throat caught a bit on the formal name. "It's been a long time."

"It has." She raised her eyes to his, her gaze steady. "At least four years, as I recall."

He thought back, then nodded. "I think you're correct. Four years. And I've been abroad for nearly two of them."

"Well," she said, tilting her head. "I do hope you enjoyed it, my lord."

Patrick nearly had to close his eyes. If the other young woman – Miss Whitlock – had a voice like Chablis, Violet's, four years since he'd heard her voice last, was now a Chianti. "Miss Barton, if I might be so bold, and I do realize your dance card might be full already –" _Oh heavens, if she intoxicates the rest like she does me, it will be, but please say it's not…._ "– but if it isn't, might I beg to be written in somewhere? Anywhere?" he added, desperate to see if she fit in his arms like he thought she might.

"Yes, Lord Downton," came her voice like Chianti. "I have a few dances left." She smiled at him, and he thought his heart might stop right then and there. Violet pulled her dance card up from her wrist where it hung from its ribbon. "Here, and here," she said, marking his name down and showing it to him. "For an old friend. A few dances for an old friend."

* * *

Violet's eyes followed Lord Downton – Patrick – as he walked away to claim his next dance. She'd spotted him earlier, while he'd chatted with Lord Middleton, and even with Miss Whitlock.

For once she didn't know what to think.

Four years had done wonders for the slight, unkempt boy she'd known. Patrick had grown into a tall – one might even say handsome – man. He kept his dark locks neat, and Violet was happy he seemed to eschew the fashion of facial hair becoming vogue. She would never want him to cover that strong chin with its striking cleft.

Violet shook herself mentally and squared her shoulders, pinning a smile upon her face for her next dance partner.

"Lord Robertson. How wonderful to see you." Violet bowed her head slightly as he bent over her glove.

"Shall we?" He extended an arm for her to take.

As they danced, Violet's attention returned to Patrick. This irritated her. Her parents had informed her of the Granthams' situation, that they intended to secure the future of their estate by having Patrick marry a woman with money. She had but a small dowry and, therefore, could never even hope to enter the pool of candidates. The only reason he wanted to dance with her was because they'd been childhood friends.

Wasn't it?

And, besides, if Patrick Crawley of now was anything like the Patrick Crawley she'd known growing up... Well, he might have been a fine friend to her, a well-suited companion in their childish endeavors, but he couldn't possibly be a compatible husband for her.

Could he?


	2. Don't make more of this than it is

It felt even better to have Violet in his arms than Patrick had anticipated. When he'd stepped up to her to claim his dance and she rested her arm upon his, his pulse raced, and he had to work to keep his breathing even.

Giving her a smile, Patrick slid his right hand around to alight upon her lower back, and took her right hand in his left. As she placed her other palm upon his shoulder, his breath hitched – not to where she could tell, he thought. Or at least he hoped she couldn't.

They danced a polka, which didn't give them enough breath to talk, nor could they really look at one another as they chassed between other couples. But Violet stepped lightly, gracefully, and Patrick could not suppress his grin at how effortlessly the two of them executed the dance – like they'd been meant to dance with one another.

Patrick attempted to calm his thoughts. It had been four years. Surely she'd have changed. Certainly she had physically. He stole glimpses of her during their polka. The young lady in his arms still very closely resembled the girl he'd known, definitely closely enough that he'd had no trouble recognizing her immediately. Her hair, although up in an elaborate coiffure, was the same auburn hue. Her eyes shone with the same ice blue light. And though the cut of her dress revealed slender, but womanly, curves, she moved with the same fluid elegance. Her face, if possible, had grown even more regal than it had been before, but the same high cheekbones and brilliant smile were present.

At any rate her smile was indeed present now, and her cheeks glowed a bright pink from exertion.

But Patrick knew well that years could change a person even more on the inside than it did on the outside. The Violet he'd known had engaged him as no one else ever had. And, as he looked back now, he comprehended that, honestly, when he was away at school and upon all his travels, he'd carried her with him.

He couldn't be sure yet if the girl he'd known remained in the woman he led around the ballroom floor. It served to curb his enthusiasm at least somewhat. Nevertheless, he couldn't stop grinning.

Violet didn't generally enjoy the polka. She attributed this to partners who didn't know how not to step on her toes. But Patrick didn't step on her toes. And he never ran into other couples or danced them inadvertently off the floor and into the crowd. (Yes. It _had_ happened once, much to her mortification.) She felt at ease in his embrace, his fingers pressing into her back with just enough pressure to indicate in which direction to move, neither hurting her nor making her feel uncomfortable. In fact, it was the most comfortable she'd felt all evening.

She noticed his glances, how he seemed to be working out how much she'd changed since she'd been a mere slip of a girl at barely fourteen.

Or perhaps he simply liked looking at her.

Grateful for the exercise putting color in her cheeks, Violet didn't feel embarrassed to know she blushed at the thought.

_Really though_, she told herself, _if he's the same – _ But it didn't matter, did it? His parents would never allow a match between them, even if she felt inclined. _And I am _not_ inclined_, she thought forcefully. _ He's always been too kind, too easily swayed by others. I couldn't be with someone like that._

"I have a break now." She surprised herself by stammering this out as Patrick led her off the floor after they'd applauded the musicians in appreciation, her breathing heavy from the polka.

Patrick twitched his dance card out of his pocket. "Miss Whitlock," it read. Replacing the card, he turned to smile at Violet. "So do I," he lied smoothly. "Shall I get you a drink? Some champagne perhaps, Miss Barton?"

She returned his smile, nodding. "I would like that, Lord Downton," she said. Gesturing to a small table, she added, "I'll be right over there. You need not accompany me. But I'll be waiting."

_Yes, darling,_ he thought. "Of course. I shan't be but a moment." He released her hand and parted from her to seek out champagne.

When he met her back at the table, he stopped short, a wide smile overtaking his visage. "Pheenie?"

"Patrick? Patrick Crawley?" The little strawberry blonde's face lit up completely, and she reached her hand across the small table to take his after he'd nodded and set the champagne down.

"Josephine," Violet hissed, scowling.

"What, Violet? I can't help it. We spent so many years growing up together, all of us…." Josephine grinned at Patrick, not sparing a look for Violet.

"Josephine Barton, how grown up you are!" Patrick laughed and pressed her hand as he sat with them.

"Well, I wasn't too far from that when you went off to school, Patrick." She chuckled as well.

"Josephine, he's Lord Downton. Please."

"No, no," Patrick said. "I wish you'd all still call me Patrick, as you used to." He turned a soft look on Violet, who looked away, sipping at her champagne. He pushed the other glass to Josephine. "Here, you start on this. I'll get another." He sent the young woman a small wink and wandered off again.

"Josephine!" Violet admonished. "How could you do that? He's Lord Downton, and you should address him as such!"

"Stop being so uptight, Violet!" Josephine tipped a good amount of champagne down her throat. "He _said_ he'd like us to continue to call him Patrick. What's wrong with that?"

"Pheenie. We're not those children anymore. As my sister, I would think you'd understand that."

Josephine shrugged. "He said it was alright. That's good enough for me. Now – before he comes back – how was the polka with him?" Her green eyes practically danced at Violet, her voice low.

Violet took out her fan and flicked it, hoping to cover her sudden blush. "It – it was fine, Pheenie. I – he…." She lowered her eyes to the table and heaved a deep sigh. "It doesn't matter how it was. He's spoken for. Or will be soon enough."

"Bite your tongue, Letty." Josephine was the only one allowed the liberty of calling Violet by that name. "You're just as good as any of these other girls. In fact, I think you're a great deal better." She punctuated this statement with a curt nod and a swig of champagne.

"I don't have a large enough dowry, Pheen. So, good enough or not, he's just the son of friends of our parents." She drew her brows together, her lowered lashes fluttering rapidly. "Besides, I don't, and never have, thought of him that way."

"Letty –"

Interrupted by Patrick's arrival, Josephine's eyes moved between her sister and their friend from childhood. "Patrick, I still have several empty spaces on my dance card. Might you fill them? For old times' sake?"

Violet shot her sister an icy look.

"Certainly, Pheenie. I'd love to." He grinned and took out his dance card to see if their empty spots might coincide. "Well, at least there's one shared empty spot. I'll put your name there?"

"I insist," Josephine said, grinning back at him and writing his name on her card.

"Goodness, I hadn't realized how nice it would be to see you two." Patrick leaned back in his chair and had a sip of champagne once he'd pocketed his dance card. "I've been gone so long –"

"Not so long." Violet's sister set her fan on the table and drained her glass.

"Four years," he chuckled. "Four years – two away at school, two in Europe – it changes a person, you know? Traveling like that. Being abroad."

"Oh, you don't have to tell us," Josephine remarked, indelicately poking Violet's upper arm. "Roberta has been in India for almost the whole time you've been gone."

"Has she? Goodness. Why?" Patrick shook his head, slightly incredulous.

Josephine appeared content to fill in details since Violet kept silent. "Oh, well, she married a few years back, and he's in some sort of business there, and, well, they both ended up involved in the Mutiny."

Patrick's jaw dropped. "Roberta? Sweet Berta? Lucknow?"

"Yes. Berta even helped load the guns." Josephine grinned proudly at this pronouncement.

"Oh my. Well." Patrick blinked at Josephine. "But she's fine? She and her husband? I heard there were incredible casualties in that business last year…."

"They're both well," Violet piped up. "Roberta and Martin came home not long after that, living here in London now. Roberta's going to have a baby. They didn't want to endanger her in any way."

"How wonderful for them both. And George?"

"He also found a nice young woman, Patrick," Josephine said. "She married a bit below her station, if I'm honest, but, well, apparently she couldn't resist our brother's charm." She chortled.

Violet snorted. "Yes, that's it," she said. "George's 'charm.'"

"Well, your brother does have _some_ charm." Patrick chuckled.

"Not really, Lord Downton. But thank you for saying so." Violet's eyes strayed to his, then her lashes lowered once more.

"I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I, Miss Barton?" Patrick trained his eyes upon her flushed face. "I couldn't countenance that."

"No. Certainly not, my lord." Her blue eyes flashed at him, giving him a strong recollection of the headstrong girl he'd known. Violet's chin raised, her cheeks still marvelously pink. "I'm not at all uncomfortable. But I think the next dance is about to begin. You should find your next partner."

"Yes," he said softly. "I suppose I should." He smiled warmly at Josephine, but his fingers brushed intimately over Violet's when he rose to take his leave.

"Are you sure he has no designs on you, Letty dearest?" her sister inquired, having caught his gesture.

"No," Violet choked out, her eyes closed. "No, of course he doesn't, Pheenie. He's just being friendly. For our parents' sake. Because we all played as children."

"Of course…." Josephine murmured, her brows raised. "Of course that's the reason, Letty."

* * *

Patrick claimed the hand of Lady Harriet for the next dance, a waltz. He'd rather have had Violet in his arms, been given a chance to chat with her during a song this calm, but instead he endeavored to see what his friend's "Snow White" thought of him.

And he eyed Violet dancing with his friend, Lord Middleton. Something he did not like one little bit – even as much as he knew Middleton adored Lady Harriet. It didn't matter. Patrick couldn't keep his thoughts from Violet.

He also couldn't keep his eyes from seeking her out over the next several dances, one of which he danced with Miss Whitlock, who appeared annoyed with him (no doubt because he'd never showed for their first dance). The auburn-haired woman from his youth filled his mind. He wanted to know more – not just about the rest of her family, but about _her_. How had she spent her time? With whom? Where had she been during his school holidays? Had she thought of him at all…?

Patrick finally approached Josephine Barton, smiling. "Pheenie? Are you still keen to dance with me?"

"Certainly I am, Patrick. You were always the sweetest compatriot of our youthful adventures."

"It's your third Season, isn't it?" he ventured, tentatively, not remembering if she might be sensitive or not.

"It is, Pat. But I do have a beau. And one who won't be whisking me off to India either…." Josephine tilted an eyebrow up and smiled at him as he prepared to lead her onto the floor.

"Well, that's something, isn't it?" Patrick continued to grin at her. He bent his head close to her ear as the opening chords of the next dance sounded. "And Violet? Does she… does she have a beau?" His chest constricted, even as he struggled to be impassive.

Before beginning to move with him through the cotillion, the complicated and intricate steps requiring them to fall silent in concentration, she managed to chuckle and say, "Oh, Pat. You know she's too stubborn to settle on anyone so early."

Patrick smiled as he led her through the dance, the tightening in his chest easing.

* * *

Violet sat in the women's dressing room, chewing her bottom lip and fiddling with her fan, vexed – vexed at Patrick, vexed at Josephine, but vexed at herself most of all. She'd avoided Patrick as much as she could since he'd left their table before. Yet she continually caught herself smiling anytime she turned to see his gaze upon her face.

Ordinarily Violet kept control of her emotions – apart from her fleeting bursts of temper. However, she tended to pride herself upon reigning over the softer emotions and knowing her own mind. But, admittedly, seeing Patrick again – this friend she'd only thought about upon occasion since his departure, who'd turned up looking dashing and proving himself as kind and interesting as ever he'd been before….

He'd pulled the rug out from under her in a way she could never have expected.

Standing as she heard the next song chords calling dancers to the floor, Violet released her bottom lip and attempted to put these perplexing thoughts away from her. But when she glanced at her card to see who would be claiming her next dance, a waltz, she sighed heavily. "Lord Downton," the card read.

Had she been less of a lady, she might have cursed. Since she wasn't, Violet merely dropped the card down by her side and left the dressing room so Patrick could find her.

Eventually Patrick strode over to her, a wide grin on his face. But at Violet's expression – furrowed brow and compressed lips – the grin died away. "Are you alright, Miss Barton?"

"I'm fine," she snapped at him, vexation rising up in her chest.

Patrick's eyes widened. "If you don't want to –"

"No," Violet interrupted, her voice softer and the creases in her forehead smoothing a trifle. "We'd agreed, and I'm perfectly well." She put out her hand for him to take.

Wisely, Patrick simply led her onto the floor, abstaining from further comment. For a few moments, they just danced, Patrick wanting to smile at her, but unable to shake the sensation that she would really rather not be dancing with him then. He hated to waste an opportunity to talk with her, though.

"I thought that –"

"How's James?" Her eyes focused upon his for the first time since he'd approached her for the dance, her brow lifting in a challenge, somehow daring him to change the subject back.

Clearing his throat gently, he answered her question. "He's well, I think. Since his wandering traveler elder brother is now home, it's his turn to travel. He left about a month ago."

"Have you heard from him?"

"He's written a few letters. Mostly addressed to Mama. You might remember that he's her favorite, and he and I still aren't close."

"Yes. I remember. You always seemed closer to us than you were to them." She pursed her lips and looked down at his cravat.

He gently pressed her hand. "Might I ask if we could –"

"Don't." Her eyes closed. She realized she'd been interrupting him constantly, rudely, but she had to stop him from saying anything more.

"Don't what?"

Eyelids fluttering open, Violet focused blue eyes on his face again. "Don't make more of this than it is, Patrick. We were friends once, and now we're two people in the same social circle whose parents happen to be friends still. That's all."

Patrick, whose breath had hitched at her first use of his given name, stared at her. "I simply thought we could have tea or go for a walk together. I wanted to see you before the next ball."

"I know what you wanted. But, please, stop. I'm getting a strong impression that you're carrying some boyhood infatuation with you. But I've never thought of you that way, Lord Downton, and we both know you are supposed to marry a woman with money. It's better if we see one another only when events throw us together." She watched his face pucker at her words. "It'll be easier for you."

"'Boyhood infatuation,'" he repeated, murmuring and shaking his head. Then he addressed Violet. "Well, you always did favor being completely forthright, Miss Barton. But I can't help wanting to see you – infatuation or not. What's wrong with that?"

What was wrong was Violet felt she may not be able to draw breath, the way he looked at her was so tender. "No. No, because it won't end well, and –" She broke off suddenly, lowering her eyes again. _I don't want to hurt you_, she thought.

"What? And what?" He began to get irritated at her stubbornness. "I know you don't have any particular suitor in mind, so it can't be that."

Violet's head snapped up and her eyes flashed. "Who told you that?"

"Josephine told me." Patrick squared his jaw, pressing his fingers into her back a trifle harder than was completely necessary now.

"She shouldn't have told you that. It's none of your business."

Patrick suddenly stood stock still, glaring down at Violet's face, his cheeks flushed with temper. "Violet Barton," he hissed, aware that people already stared at them, and grateful that they were at least on the edge of the dance floor and not in the middle of it. "I may not have been around for the past several years, but that doesn't mean I don't care about you or your family. Josephine knows that, and she knows what it means to be a friend."

Violet snorted, tendrils of hair curling around her ears, sticking to her neck. She pulled away from him, breaking his embrace. "Friends? You never once wrote to any of us. You never came to visit whilst on holiday. Did you? I think you've forfeited any rights to my life being your business."

"I did write to you once, Violet, and you never answered, so I decided you wanted to be left alone!" His nostrils flared, and he balled his fists at his side. Out of the corner of his eye, he apprehended his mother glowering at him. Seizing Violet by the waist and hand, he waltzed them back into the sea of dancers.

"Let me go," Violet hissed, squirming.

"Not until you acknowledge that I wrote to you, and you simply rebuffed me."

Violet grew still, apart from dancing and the heel of her hand bearing into his shoulder. Her red face tilted downward, her eyes resting on his shirt buttons.

"Please," Patrick said. "Can't we at least be friends again? We were once. Please, Violet."

The tenor of his voice startled her into looking up into his pleading, hopeful face. "Fine, my lord." As a smile started to curl upon his lips, she finished, "You wrote me. I did not respond. Now let me go." She stuck out her chin, endeavoring to ignore the shadow falling over his features.

"Of course, Miss Barton. I said I would." He stopped and withdrew his hands from her, hastening away before she could say another word.

Violet stood only a few seconds, her gaze upon his back, before turning and weaving through the other still dancing couples. How the dance was still going on, she didn't know. She also wasn't quite sure how she managed to find an empty table, nor did she remember dropping down lightly into a chair or waving a footman over with a glass of champagne. Patrick's voice reverberated in her head, his gentle request to be friends again tugging at her heart.

She closed her eyes and sipped champagne. When she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, she opened her eyes, and immediately they rested on Patrick's dejected countenance. Swallowing hard, she kept her eyes fixed on his, then slipped the ribbon upon which her fan dangled from her wrist down her hand.

Maintaining their eye contact, she deliberately let the fan drop onto the floor in front of her feet.

Patrick's eyes flicked down to the fan, and he wracked his brain to figure out the meaning of such a specific action. Then she smiled softly at him, and he remembered.

Returning her smile, he gave her a slight nod of understanding. Friends. They could be friends again.


	3. To rekindle our friendship

"Letty, stop. Don't think I can't see you."

Violet turned to her sister in the dim light of the carriage lamps, giving her lip one last good gnaw before letting it go.

Shrugging, Josephine smoothed her gloved hands over her lap. "It's well enough to do that when you're a child, but you're nearly eighteen, and, to be honest, young men won't want to kiss you if you chew your lip raw."

An image flashed through Violet's mind of Patrick Crawley leaning in for a kiss and then recoiling at her unsightly bottom lip. She turned away, blushing and scolding herself for such ridiculous thoughts.

"Come on, Violet," she said in a low, encouraging voice. "I know you do that only when something's troubling you. Won't you tell me? It's not like Mama and Papa are here to hear it." Their parents had gone home earlier, sending the carriage back for them.

Violet sighed and looked back at Josephine. "I don't know what to say. Everything's too knotted up in my head."

Josephine put a hand on top of her sister's. "It's Patrick, isn't it?" she asked gently.

Vacillating between telling her sister the truth – whatever that might be – and equivocating, Violet nonetheless marveled at her ability to deduce the truth. About to bite her lip once more, Violet puckered her brow instead, the image of Patrick flinching away from her still unbelievably strong. She stuck out her chin. "I don't want to talk about it, Pheenie."

"It is! I knew it, Letty! You looked so disappointed after that last dance – and don't think I didn't notice that argument, whatever that was about – when he couldn't seem to come back over to talk to you…." Josephine shook her head.

"I was _not_ disappointed, Pheenie. He's just a friend," she muttered, moving her eyes to look out the window. "He had obligations, dances to claim." And his mother had begun hovering over him as well, but she didn't mention this to Josephine.

"But you _are_ friends again? I did see the fan drop…." She clasped Violet's hand tighter.

Her eyes snapping back to her sister, Violet gaped at her. "What were you doing? Watching me all evening?"

"Letty, don't break into hysterics. I'm your sister, and you've only attended a few of these so far. I have to keep an eye on you. I wasn't _watching_ you to be nosy." Josephine rolled her eyes.

"Well, stop it. I can take care of myself. It's not as if I haven't gone to parties or attended balls before."

"You don't understand yet, Let. It's a game you have to learn to play."

"So you've told me, Pheenie. Might you let me work it out for myself? I'm not an imbecile." Violet pried her hand loose from her sister's.

Josephine heaved a sigh. "I never said you were. It's just – it might be useful to get ahead. Although, if you've already got your heart set on someone…."

"Pheenie! I beg you to quit saying things like that. My heart isn't set on anyone. And I want to figure it out for myself. As much as I do appreciate your inclination to look out for me, I wish you wouldn't smoother me." She knew this wasn't fair to Josephine, but her temper, being engaged, needed an outlet.

Knowing her sister as well as she did, Josephine didn't take offense at this. Violet got this way when she perceived she'd lost control over something in her life. "I'll try not to smoother you any more, Letty." She felt the carriage slow and saw lights of Finley house through the window. "Come on. We're both exhausted."

Violet's temper fizzled out as Josephine took her hand once again outside the carriage so they could walk into the house together. "I'm sorry, Pheenie," she said softly as they crossed the threshold. She rarely apologized to anyone else.

"Shhh. You don't have to apologize. Not to me." Josephine smiled and let the butler help her with her evening wrap.

"Miss Violet," the butler said, taking her wrap as well, "this arrived for you a few moments ago." He draped the wrap over his arm and held out a small envelope.

"Thank you, Rutledge." She accepted the envelope and linked arms with Josephine as they meandered wearily toward the stairs. "I'll be glad to get out of these shoes!" she exclaimed with a low chuckle.

"Never mind that, Letty – what did Rutledge give you? Who is it from?"

"I thought you said you weren't being nosy, Pheen." Violet raised her eyebrows teasingly at her sister.

"Well, I wasn't at the ball. Now I'll admit that I'm being nosy. Come now, tell me."

Violet laughed. "I haven't even opened it yet; how should I know?"

"What are you waiting for?" Josephine giggled.

"I'd thought I might open it in the privacy of my bedroom, actually."

"That's no fun, Let. I want to see." She snatched at the envelope.

Pulling her arm back abruptly, Violet laughed again. "You won't get it that way; my arms are longer than yours."

They gained the top of the stairs and awkwardly made their way down the hall, Josephine grabbing for the envelope and Violet neatly twitching it away from her even as they still walked with arms linked, laughing and squawking merrily.

"Girls!" came a voice behind them.

Startled, they turned around to face the tall man with a pair of luxuriant red mustaches shot through with white and bushy eyebrows on his high forehead, dressed in his long nightshirt and nightcap. One hand grasped the handle of his bedroom door and the other rested on his hip, curled into a fist, and his face had reddened with temper, his bright blue eyes snapping – very similar to the way his youngest daughter's often did.

"_Must_ you make such a noise? You'll wake your poor mother," he growled at them, moving his hand from his hip to point at the door to the next room up from his.

"Sorry, Papa," the two murmured together, adding, "Goodnight, Papa" as he shook his head and shut the door behind him.

Stifling their giggles as best they could now, they hurried to Violet's room together. Josephine collapsed upon the chaise longue while Violet pulled the bell chord for their maid. "So I suppose you're not going to leave me in peace, are you?"

"Not a chance, Letty." She gave her sister a wide grin, leaving her shoes on the floor as she swung her legs up onto the chaise.

Violet rolled her eyes and went to her small writing desk for a paper knife. She examined the writing on the front for a moment, thinking there was something familiar about the handwriting. After slitting open the envelope, she walked to the middle of the room, facing Josephine. As she was about to extract the letter, however, their maid walked in.

"Go on," Josephine said, flourishing her fan at the envelope. "You can very well read whilst Fanny unhooks your dress."

Flicking her eyes to her sister and then back, Violet slid the paper out and opened it. "It's from Lord Downton," she said, furrowing her brow, her heart pounding. No wonder the handwriting had been familiar.

"Well, he doesn't waste any time, does he?" Josephine chuckled.

Violet stared down at the letter, blinking hard at it and starting to gnaw at her lip again.

"Letty…."

"What?" Once her teeth had let go of her lip, she realized what her sister meant. "Oh." She started to turn to pace, but felt a yanking behind her.

"Miss, please –" Fanny said gently.

"Pardon me, Fanny." She sighed.

"Well? Letty, what does it say?" Pink painted across Josephine's cheeks, and her green eyes brightened.

Violet took a deep breath before reading: "'My dear Violet. I hope that since we are friends again that you'll allow me to address you as such, as I had before. However, if you would prefer to continue along a more formal vein, feel free to remonstrate me the next time we meet. Which I hope might be tomorrow. Would you care to join me for a walk in Hyde Park – by the Serpentine or any other place you like – early tomorrow afternoon? I very much wish to see you, Violet… to rekindle our friendship. It means more than you could know to yours sincerely, Patrick.'"

Josephine grinned at her sister until she discerned how drawn her expression was, a trace of fear in her eyes. "Violet, what's the matter?"

Shaking her head slightly and looking down, Violet reread the letter twice more, tearing her eyes from it only when Fanny needed to slide her dress down her arms. Finally, as the maid peeled off her last petticoat and began unhooking her corset, Violet raised her eyes to her sister. "I don't know exactly how to act. In so many ways, I know Patrick almost as well as I know you, Pheenie. But – still – he's been gone so long, he's essentially a stranger."

"Letty? Did he feel like a stranger to you tonight?" Josephine tilted her head at Violet.

Fanny indicated that Violet should sit at her dressing table. Doing this, Violet watched the maid take off her shoes, then closed her eyes as she began removing her jewelry and the flowers from her hair, unpinning it.

"No. Well, not entirely," Violet eventually answered, opening her eyes and training them to the reflection of Fanny's hands in the mirror. "It's hard to explain."

"I think I understand, dearest." Josephine stood and picked up Violet's hairbrush. "Fanny, might you go to my room and get my things ready? I'll be there in just a bit. I'll finish with Miss Violet."

Nodding, Fanny put Violet's shoes away and gathered the discarded petticoats before departing.

Josephine drew the brush through Violet's auburn hair slowly and carefully, working out tangles and knots, keeping her eyes on what she was doing. "May I give you some advice, Letty?"

"I don't suppose I can stop you, can I?" Violet grinned a little at her in the mirror.

Tugging on her hair slightly, Josephine met her eyes in their reflection. "Try to accept the friendship he's offering. The last thing that Patrick would ever want is to hurt you. If he's content to be friends, then be his friend. There's nothing wrong in that."

"I –" Violet broke off, shaking her head. "I don't know if I know how. We're not children anymore, Pheen."

"So you keep saying." Josephine raised an eyebrow and jerked the brush through a particularly stubborn knot.

"Ouch!" Violet scowled at her sister in the mirror. "I'd rather not be bald, Josephine."

"I honestly don't think Patrick would care if you were," she said, chuckling but going easier on the tangles.

Violet continued to scowl. "I told you not to say things like that," she said through gritted teeth.

Josephine shrugged. "It slipped out. I'll try to do better, Let."

They fell silent for a few minutes. Then Josephine set Violet's brush on her table and bent down to kiss the top of Violet's head.

"There," she said, bringing the soft red waves back behind her shoulders and beginning a loose braid.

"Pheenie?"

"Yes, Letty?"

"I already have an engagement for early afternoon, but will you come with me if Patrick can take tea with me? We can go to that tea room you like so much." She began gnawing on her lip again.

Josephine wrapped a ribbon around the braid and tied a bow into it. Then she yanked it teasingly. "I will – if you stop chewing on your lip like that."

Violet bent her head back and looked up into her sister's face. "I'll try to do better too." She grinned as Josephine pressed a kiss to her brow.

"Write the note. I'm going to bed. Goodnight, my little love." With another tug and a smile, Josephine picked up her gloves and fan from the chaise, stepped into her shoes, and swept out of the room.

Heaving a deep sigh, Violet quickly changed from her shift into her night dress, then sat at her writing table. She opened her ink well, pulled a sheet of stationery toward her, picked up her quill, and – chewed on the end of her braid in thought, since she wasn't allowed to chew her lip. After a few moments of this, she set pen to paper, her brow furrowed as she wrote.

* * *

Patrick couldn't help asking their butler if he had any messages as soon as he got into the dining room for breakfast, even though he knew it would be too early to expect anything from Violet. He filled his plate and sat next to his father at the table, waiting for the newspaper. Not that he would be able to concentrate upon it.

The whole morning, his head felt as if it were in a dense fog, the only thing sharply in focus being Violet's soft smile at him from across the room when she'd dropped her fan. Whenever he thought about what she might write back to him, his heart would beat twice as hard and his palms grew sweaty.

About an hour before luncheon, his mother beckoned him into the drawing room of Grantham House.

"Patrick, I've arranged for you to take Miss Whitlock for a walk after luncheon today."

Taken aback, Patrick, in the act of sitting across from her, stood back up and drew his brows together. "You did _what_, Mama?"

"You heard me the first time," she said, eyeing him in disapproval.

"But – why? I am a grown man. I don't need you to arrange anything for me." He did his best to keep his irritation from his voice, and he only just managed it.

Or he thought he had. "Patrick Crawley, don't speak to me in that impertinent manner." Her forehead puckered and her very expression made him sit down. "And I arranged it as a way for you to smooth things over with Miss Whitlock for slighting her last night."

"Slighting her? I danced three dances with her, Mama." Patrick grumbled and looked down at his hands resting on his knees.

"It should have been four," she asserted sternly. "She wasn't happy with your behavior, Patrick; nor am I. You will take her for a walk, and you will smooth things over." She paused a moment while Patrick lifted his head to stare at her. "And don't think I didn't see you with those Barton girls. I won't have you wasting your time with the likes of them."

Patrick gaped at her. "'Those Barton girls'? Their parents are friends of yours and Papa's! We grew up with them! What should I do? Ignore them?"

Lady Grantham narrowed her eyes. "Don't be ludicrous. Of course you don't ignore them. You say hello, you ask how they are, and you move on. I didn't say you couldn't be polite. But you weren't being simply polite, were you?" She lifted a brow.

"Mama, I refuse to allow you to dictate with whom I associate." He stood, looking down at her. "They are my friends, and I will spend time with them if I like. Furthermore, I will not be going anywhere with Miss Whitlock unless _I_ want to." He spun on his heel and marched toward the door.

"Yes, Patrick, you _will_." Her voice followed him over the threshold.

"Lord Downton?"

"_What?_" Patrick barked, turning and beholding the butler.

The butler couldn't have been more impervious to Patrick's angry greeting. He held out a slaver with an envelope on it. "This just arrived for you, my lord."

Patrick caught his breath and began to grin. Delicate, looping, _feminine_ handwriting. He nearly pounced upon the envelope. "Thank you, Collins." He withdrew to a quiet window and ripped it open, not patient enough even to find a paper knife. Smiling down at the paper, he read:

_Dear Patrick,_

_I shan't remonstrate you for your familiarity; consider it a peace offering in return for my behaviour tonight. As kind as your invitation for a walk is, I am already engaged for early afternoon. But in order to keep good faith with you – that I do want to be friends – may I ask if you would like to take tea with me and Josephine at G-'s Tearoom instead? It is her favourite. Please let me know whether we should expect you or not. _

_With my regards, Violet_

Folding the letter up and slipping it into his pocket, he went to the doorway of the drawing room and smiled at his mother.

"I don't mind taking Miss Whitlock for a walk today, Mama. I do hope you will take this as a sign of my cooperation and won't continue to 'arrange' things for me."

Lady Grantham blinked at his unexpected compliance to her requests. "I will refrain from that in the future, Patrick, since you're doing me this favor." Patrick wanted to laugh at the way she put this. "But I reserve the right to encourage you toward certain actions."

Patrick nearly lost the battle against rolling his eyes at this. "Duly noted, Mama. I'll see you at luncheon."

"Where are you going now?" she asked querulously.

He waved a hand at her as he tripped out into the hallway and called out behind him, "I have a letter to write!"


	4. If she ever found me worthy

Patrick led Miss Whitlock from her carriage and into Hyde Park. Though he'd imagined taking Violet along this same path, he attempted to push those imaginings away and concentrate upon the young woman on his arm.

And who knew? There might be a chance to squire Violet Barton around Hyde Park yet.

"I wish to apologize, Miss Whitlock, for my reprehensible behavior last night. It was inexcusably rude of me to overlook our first dance."

The blonde woman in the rose afternoon dress harrumphed, walking with as much distance between them as possible while her arm rested upon his. "Yes. It was."

Patrick cleared his throat delicately and looked down, sheepish. "I hope I can make up for that."

"We shall see, Lord Downton." She pursed her lips and trained her eyes straight ahead as they strolled down the gravel paths.

He tried again. "I had thought we might chat a little more this afternoon. Seeing how we didn't get to as much last evening. For instance, your family? My mother says you have a few sisters. Do you have brothers?"

Miss Whitlock shot a somewhat withering look at him, but began to tell him, in the most succinct manner possible, about her family. Although ostensibly listening to her, Patrick took the opportunity to study her. She'd been pretty enough, as Patrick remembered, the night before, but in the light of day her features presented a slightly different picture. It wasn't that she wouldn't be regarded as handsome, or even possibly beautiful, by most men of his acquaintance. Patrick simply didn't see anything particularly attractive in her round, dimpled cheeks, hair so fair as to be nearly white, or eyes which appeared a muddy sort of green to him – certainly not the bright, clear green of Josephine's, and assuredly a far cry from Violet's eyes of ice blue. Her round chin matched her cheeks, and her lips might have been improved by a smile, but Patrick started to believe that these were foreign to her.

At the very least they were around him thus far in their acquaintance.

Furthermore, candlelight and oil lamps must have cast a favorable light upon Miss Whitlock, since skin that had appeared almost alabaster the evening before looked merely pale against her pink frock and made Patrick wonder if she might not have a sickly constitution. When she ceased to speak, Patrick realized that the crisp, white Chablis of her voice had soured as the crispness transformed into something terse and well-nigh brittle in his ears.

After asking her a few more questions regarding her family, Patrick volunteered details of his own family, even though he was reasonably sure she knew most of it already.

As their walk continued, Patrick grew increasingly convinced that Miss Whitlock just might be the most tedious, lackluster woman of his entire acquaintance, even if she might prove somewhat more pleasant upon further meetings (when she had – he hoped – forgotten his slight). For now, however, they fell into silence – and an uneasy one for Patrick at least.

Then he saw her. Violet. He blinked, disbelieving his eyes at first. But there she was, indeed, on the arm of…. He squinted, setting a more rapid pace than they'd been maintaining on their stroll, trying to get a better look at the man with Violet – _my_ _sweet Violet_, he thought sadly.

He thought he recognized him as Lord Robertson. Patrick heaved a deep sigh and stopped abruptly on the path, his eyes affixed to the pair. They spoke animatedly, and Violet's laugh floated to him on the spring air.

"Lord Downton?" Patrick felt a persistent pattering upon the back of his hand where his companion attempted to remind him of her presence.

"Hmmm?" Reluctantly ripping his gaze away from Violet and Lord Robertson, he settled it upon Miss Whitlock, whose brows had drawn together in a combination of annoyance and bemusement. "Oh. Pardon me. I became distracted."

"Evidently," she said, her lips set in a hard line. "Perhaps we should walk toward the rose gardens."

Patrick caught her glance to Violet, eliciting a brief electric flash in her otherwise dull green eyes. With a nod, he steered her in the direction of the gardens, careful not to look the other way.

* * *

After an otherwise thoroughly uneventful – really, boring – promenade with Miss Whitlock, Patrick saw her to her carriage, then extracted his pocket watch. He wondered how something so tiresome could have taken up so little time. It still lacked nearly an hour until tea time.

As tempted as he was to stand by one of the entrances to the park in the hopes of getting another glimpse of Violet with Lord Robertson, he knew that, if caught, Violet would be none too pleased. So he ambled along the pavement, glancing in shop windows and greeting various acquaintances as he came across them.

Even as he bid them to leave him, his musings kept returning to Violet and her laughter as she strode through the park on the arm of another man.

It made his insides curdle.

A quarter of an hour before he knew Josephine and Violet expected him at the tearoom, he found himself in front of a flower shop and paused, wringing his hands behind his back, determining whether or not to go in. With a curt nod of decision, Patrick stepped into the shop and glanced at the offerings. With the help of a courteous saleswoman, he had two nosegays made up, each wrapped with a ribbon. Pressing the requisite amount of money into the woman's hand, he tipped his hat to her and, clutching the two bouquets in one fist, he left, whistling now as he made his way to meet the sisters.

Reaching the tea room, Patrick discovered that he'd arrived ahead of the Misses Barton. Being shown to a small table, he placed each nosegay down beside a plate, then sat at the third place setting to wait. He consulted his pocket watch several times – disconcerted to realize only about a minute had passed between each consultation – then rose with a smile when he beheld Violet sweeping toward him, resplendent in peacock green. Extending a hand toward her, he took hers and kissed it, pulling out a chair for her.

"But where's Josephine?" he asked, drawing his brows together as he searched for her in vain.

"She's meant to meet us here. I hope you don't mind; Geoff – that's her beau – called around for her unexpectedly a few hours ago." Violet picked up her menu while Patrick sat once more, hiding her face behind it and biting her lip distractedly. She'd hoped that her sister would have been there already.

Patrick flicked his eyes over the back of Violet's menu, his heart hammering inside his chest. "Violet?"

She took a deep breath and lowered her menu enough to look at him over the top. "Yes?"

His heart skipped a beat as her eyelashes fluttered at him in wait. "I – I brought you both flowers. Pheenie's are the tulips. I thought I remembered you liked roses. And there are violets too." He smiled at her.

Feeling herself color a trifle, Violet put her menu aside and picked up the nosegay beside her plate, lifting it to her face and closing her eyes, inhaling the fragrance of the roses. When she looked at him again, she returned his smile. "Thank you, Patrick. They're beautiful." Violet lowered her lashes as his smile widened, putting the bouquet back beside her plate. "I thought we could order Pheenie's favorite tea? She should be here soon…."

"Yes, we can do that." He inclined his head toward a waiter and let Violet order for them. Then he studied his hands. "I saw you in Hyde Park today."

Violet raised her eyes to his face, noticing his carefully guarded expression. "Yes. I told you I had an engagement for early afternoon. Lord Robertson asked me for a walk."

"That's who I thought it was." He nodded and looked up, swallowing. "Have you been spending a great deal of time together?" he asked tentatively.

She gave a slight shrug. "A bit. No more than with anyone else." _They're all the same_, she thought.

"Who else has your family been pushing you toward?" At her startled expression and then narrowing eyes, he shrugged as well. "They're bound to be doing with you the same mine are doing with me, Violet. It's the way the game is played."

Violet's brows drew together, and she looked down at her hands, tugging her gloves off finger by finger, slowly, avoiding his gaze. "I don't like this game, Patrick. I have a mind to protest vehemently."

His heart leaping up into his throat, Patrick leaned forward a bit. "You and me both."

A deep sigh escaped from between her lips and dragged his heart back down to its accustomed place. "There's nothing for it, though. We learn to play, and we try to manipulate things where and how we can. It's our only recourse." She raised her head and fixed her eyes on his. "Right?"

"Why not protest vehemently?" A crease appeared on his forehead.

"What good would it do? My parents are stubborn, and so are yours. As soon as we would protest, they would dig in their heels all the more." She tilted her head at him. "You know it just as well as I, Patrick."

Patrick blinked at her a few times, then opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the advent of their tea. He closed his mouth again, and kept it thus while she poured their tea for them, mulling over what had been said. Violet looked at her sister's cup and sighed, then glanced around.

"I suppose we've been forgotten," she said, her voice calm even though her mind had started to panic slightly. Josephine had promised.

"Perhaps she's simply got caught up." He sipped his tea and put the cup into his saucer. "And perhaps you simply haven't found a reason to dig your heels in even more than your parents would, Violet."

Violet stared at him a moment before connecting his present statement with their earlier conversation. "I can't imagine that I would. I've seen no one outside the men chosen as appropriate for whom it would be worth doing such a thing – disappointing them." She shrugged again and picked up a sandwich, taking a dainty bite.

Eyes on his teacup, Patrick nodded. "I see. You've become even more pragmatic than I remember. And you're right." He met her gaze. "My parents, too, would protest fervidly and adamantly against anyone outside of their list of prospective wives. But, you see, there is someone for whom I think it might be worth fighting against them. If she ever found me worthy in return."

"Patrick, please," she whispered, beginning to tremble, but maintaining their eye contact. "I thought you understood…. I barely know you anymore." Her voice nearly gave out on the last utterance, and she shook her head slightly, putting the sandwich down on her plate, the lump in her throat not allowing her to swallow properly.

He leaned forward again, giving her a contrite smile. "I'm sorry, my dear friend," he said in a low, clear voice. "I just needed to say it once. But I won't say any more about it. Not if it pains you to hear it. You have my word."

Violet searched his eyes, his countenance, seeing only sincerity and caring in them. She nodded, a tiny motion, before she closed her eyes and sucked in a deep and silent breath. When she opened them, her companion sat sipping his tea, his eyes on his plate. "Patrick," she said softly. Once he looked at her, she continued, "I would never like to hurt you. And if I pretended to more than I felt, I would. I can't ruin the friendship I remember between us. And I won't deny that you were my favorite friend."

Nodding again, he placed his empty cup on the table and watched her refill it. "Why didn't you answer my letter then, Violet?"

"I don't know," she said, pouring more tea into her own cup to avoid looking at him.

"You don't know," Patrick repeated, shaking his head and observing as she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth to chew upon it. "It always intrigued me when you did that," he remarked, putting his spoon down and taking up his cup once more.

She turned to him, curiosity painted over her visage, then blushed and let her lip go. "Pheenie's admonished me for it more than usual," Violet replied in a low voice, embarrassed, but at the same time glad for a less threatening subject.

"Why is that? I think it's rather endearing. If you don't mind a friend saying that," he added. He picked up a tea cake and bit into it.

This did nothing to help Violet stop blushing. "I guess I don't mind. And she said –" If anything, she grew redder. "She said no young man would want to kiss me if I gnawed my lip raw," she told him in a tumbled murmur.

To her surprise, he started to chuckle. "She may have a point. But there are degrees of things – and sometimes an endearing gesture makes a young man _want_ to kiss a young lady, despite a small rough patch."

Violet blinked at him, hardly knowing what to make of the turn the discussion had taken. His tone was conversational, light, even though the content _could_ be viewed as quite intimate.

It reminded her of their talks in the few years before he'd gone away. Not that they'd ever discussed kissing. That she remembered, at least.

"So…it might not be a wholly awful thing? To bite my lip at times?" she queried, tilting her head in a quizzical manner.

"Well, I wouldn't recommend you do it to the extent that your lip is _actually_ raw. That sounds rather painful." He grinned at her, having another bite of tea cake.

Violet grinned back at him. "I'll keep that in mind."

For well over an hour Patrick and Violet kept up their friendly conversation, both feeling increasingly more comfortable with their role as "friend." Patrick still closed his eyes a few times when Violet's rich laugh met his ears, and Violet trembled or blushed at some of the things he said, discerning a more nuanced meaning to his words than what lay at face value. Nonetheless, their tea got cold and the sandwiches began to curl at their edges as they dried out, forgotten.

Suddenly, Violet's eyes widened. "Oh! Patrick, what time is it?"

He looked at his pocket watch and told her the time.

"Oh. Oh dear. I have to get back. The dressing bell –"

Patrick chuckled. "Come now, Violet, it's alright. I'll walk you back home." He paused and cocked his head at her. "May I do that?"

"Of course, but, oh, do hurry!"

"I've already settled the bill, so there's no need to get agitated." He stood and held his hand out to her.

Twitching on her gloves quickly and gathering her things, she put her hand in his and rose. For a few breathless seconds, she watched Patrick rub his thumb over the backs of her fingers. She wondered if she'd imagined it as he folded her arm beneath his and led her out of the tearoom.

As they sauntered down the pavement, much more rapidly than Patrick wanted (but he recognized her need for haste; he would need to be back at Grantham House before the dressing gong as well if he weren't to be scolded by his mother), he coughed lightly, then said, "Violet?"

"Yes, Patrick, what is it?"

He squeezed her arm ever-so-slightly under his own. "May I see you again tomorrow?"

Violet's chest constricted a trifle. "I don't know, Patrick. Aren't we supposed to be meeting with potential spouses? Spending time with them?"

"Can't we do both?" he asked, throwing caution to the wind in the light of their successful tea.

"I don't know," she repeated, spotting Finley House in the distance.

"Will you at least consider it? If we're to play this game, it would be prudent to have as many allies as possible, don't you think?" Patrick knew he should appeal to her pragmatism if he were going to gain any sort of permanent ground with her.

She turned her face toward him with a smile as they continued with strides as long as her legs and heels would allow toward her home. "I suppose that's true. I'll send a note in the morning, Patrick – to let you know if we can meet."

"I look forward to it," he said, grinning at her. _Dear lord, you don't know how much,_ he thought.

When they got to the front door of Finley House, Violet detached her arm from his, but took his hand and faced him with another warm smile, the nosegays clasped tightly in her other hand. "I don't know if you remember, but my birthday –"

"It's May 4th," Patrick said, nodding.

Violet blinked a few times, astonished that he actually did remember. "Well, yes, that's in another week, and my parents have planned a ball. My 'formal' coming out." Warmth suffused her cheeks. "I want you to be there, Patrick. You should be there. I don't know if my mother invited you and your parents or not, but – I want you there."

"And I want to be there, Violet. I'd be honored."

"I'll make sure an invitation gets to you, if you don't have one already." She lowered her lashes. "You're my friend. And I want you there," she repeated.

"Then I will be." Patrick pressed her hand gently, happy when she lifted bright eyes to his.

"You shall have the first dance," Violet promised before she realized what she was saying.

"I'm even more honored." He wrapped his other hand around her wrist and raised her hand to his lips. "Go now, friend. You don't want to upset the household by being late." He smirked at her.

"I'll send a note, Patrick. Good evening." She gently tugged her hand from his to ascend the steps.

"Good evening, Violet. Dear friend of my heart," he whispered as she disappeared behind the door of Finley House.

He tucked all these things into his heart and made his way back to Grantham House, lighter than he felt any right to be.

* * *

"Pheenie!"

"Violet! Don't shriek! You'll frighten Fanny!" Josephine pointed to the woman behind her attending to her coiffure.

Fanny merely smiled a knowing smile and continued braiding her elder mistress' hair.

"Where were you?" Violet stood in her sister's room, her hands on the hips of her green afternoon dress and her brows drawn together menacingly.

"I – got a bit – well, preoccupied, Letty." Her sister chuckled and blushed.

Shaking her head, Violet sank down onto an armchair. "I needed you, Pheen."

"Was it awful?" she asked sympathetically.

"Well, no. Not after the first awkward moments." She stood and deposited the slightly wilting nosegay of tulips upon her sister's dressing table. "He brought you these."

"How sweet of him!" Josephine exclaimed.

"Yes, well, it would have been nicer had you been there to accept them yourself," Violet said, scowling.

"Letty, did he say that?"

"No. I wanted you there, Pheenie. I needed you there." Violet pouted.

Josephine waved their maid away. "I think that's enough, Fanny. I think you could go ready Miss Violet's evening gown?"

Fanny nodded and left the room.

Tucking stray hairs behind her ears and into the braids of her coiffure, Josephine sighed at her reflection in the mirror. "Violet, you didn't need me there. You needed to think that. You and I both know you can handle yourself –"

"But, Pheen – he said," Violet interrupted, her breath hitching. "He essentially said that he wanted to marry me. That he would fight his parents if he needed to."

Josephine spun around in her chair, gaping at her sister. "What did you say?"

"What could I say? I told him I wanted only to be his friend, that I didn't really know him anymore." She let out her breath in a long exhale, lowering her eyes.

"Why did you do that?" her sister hissed, standing. "He's completely smitten, and you just throw that away?"

Violet rose as well, giving her sister a steely stare. "Josephine, I love you, and I value your advice, but I must do as my conscience guides. Patrick is my friend, and he accepts that. I wish you would too." Spinning on her heel, she marched toward the door.

"Letty – Letty, wait," Josephine pleaded, hastening to her sister's side.

"I can't, Pheenie. I can't. Neither of us are the same. Please –" Violet exhorted, standing by the doorway and closing her eyes in entreaty.

Josephine pressed her lips to her sister's cheek, kissing her and saying against her skin, "I'm sorry. Letty, forgive me. I so want you to be happy. I think you could with him. But if you can't see it yet, then, please, let me help you otherwise."

"I know, Pheen. I know," Violet whispered, leaning against her sister. She turned and embraced Josephine, wrapping her arms around her shoulders and murmuring in her ear. "I invited him for my birthday and promised him the first dance. I – he's important to me, Pheenie. But I still don't know him. Do you understand, dearest?"

"I do, Letty. I do." She massaged gentle fingers over Violet's neck and placed another kiss to her temple. "Run along, my darling. Fanny's waiting, and the dressing bell rang a while ago. If you're late, I'll placate Mama and Papa. I promise."

Violet giggled unexpectedly. "A real promise or one like you made to me about this afternoon?"

"Hush, little love," Josephine patted her cheek and grinned. "You know which I mean. Go on now."

Brushing her fingers over her elder sister's jaw and chin, Violet left the room, headed toward her own. When she got there, she saw that Fanny had pulled out an almost sedate pearl grey dress. Sighing, Violet decided it would do, as it was only the family that night to see her. Thinking that she'd never want Patrick to see her in such a thing, she sighed again and went to her bedside table drawer, withdrawing a particular book. After Fanny had dressed her and she sat at her dressing table so the maid could dress her hair, Violet opened the book and took out a yellowed piece of paper. A letter from nearly four years before, the stationery bearing the crest of Eton College. Violet unfolded it and read:

_My dearest friend Violet,_

_I am not sure how this letter will be received, to be honest. It is my most earnest hope that it might be answered, along with my ardent affection. However, I am under no illusions that you feel the same. I am but the friend of your youth, I think, a childhood companion. Oh, Violet, how I wish I could be more. I don't think you realise how attached to you I've become or how devoted to your happiness I am. I do apologise if I frighten you with my enthusiasm, but, truly, I feel that until we meet again, I will pine for you alone. You irritate and excite me as no other can – I am intoxicated by your singular charms. I know you are but a child still, but soon you'll be a woman, with a woman's sensibilities…. I only hope I can capture your fancy one day. Darling, I'm sorry I send this letter so full of effusive praise that you probably think you do not deserve…. Don't you think that is exactly what fascinates me about you? That you cannot think that you deserve such merit – but that also – I do know – think you are above nearly everyone? I can't think how to classify you, where to place you – except as the one who reigns true over my heart. I know you may not respond. I know you will probably balk at my declaration. But it had to be said. I just needed to say it once. So you know. So I could say that I hadn't wasted a chance. Violet, darling, I do wish that when I eventually come home, that it's to you. If that's not to be, I accept it. But I won't be happy. Not without you._

_Ever your humble servant and friend,_

_Patrick Crawley_

His words reached from across the years, over the page, and crushed her heart. She hadn't read the letter for many years. She'd only read it a few times after it had arrived, deciding that it was too adamant and too youthful to be a true representation of her friend's feelings. He must have been alone or drunk or…. She didn't know. And she also didn't know how to answer such a letter. As he'd written, he did frighten her with his enthusiasm, and she didn't think herself worthy of his praise. And she had certainly balked.

But now….

Well, did it matter? Violet had gotten her friend back. The friend – besides her own dear Josephine – who was dearest to her heart.


	5. I think it only fitting

Just before her mother and Josephine met her in the foyer, Violet handed an envelope to Rutledge with specific instructions. She'd been somewhat startled at her own disappointment to have remembered that the three had an appointment for a dress fitting that morning for the gowns they'd be wearing to her birthday ball. She had thought she and Patrick might go for a walk, since she had consented to a carriage ride with Lord Middleton in the early afternoon and to tea with Lord Robertson. Alas, she would have to put him off until the morrow.

The message she gave Rutledge for Patrick said:

_Dear Patrick,_

_I am afraid that I cannot see you today, as I am engaged every moment, unfortunately. Might we meet tomorrow? We could take a walk mid-morning, if you aren't otherwise busy. Also, Mama did say that she sent an invitation to Grantham House for the family, but I still wanted to send you one of your own. Don't forget that you promised we would dance the first together._

_I enjoyed yesterday, and I look forward to seeing you again soon as_

_Your friend, _

_Violet_

Violet had slipped the invitation into the envelope along with the note, hopeful that Patrick could see her the next day.

* * *

The day flew by. The dress fitting went well; Violet thanked heaven that she and her mother had agreed upon a dress before that they'd both liked, Josephine adding her thanks that she didn't have to act as mediator between the two for once. On her carriage ride with Lord Middleton, Violet happened to mention Patrick and found herself regaled with stories from when the two had traipsed around France and Italy together. She had never minded Lord Middleton; he appeared to have realized upon their first time walking in Hyde Park together that she had little interest in him as anything other than an acquaintance. And he appeared to accept that, speaking to her rather as a friend than as a suitor, telling her instead of his own paramour, Lady Harriet.

Now Violet laughed to hear the shenanigans in which the two had participated, asking Lord Middleton to elaborate and sharing a few of her own memories of Patrick as a child. Then the pair put their heads together to think of a way to further engage the fancy of Lady Harriet at Violet's ball the next week.

Lord Middleton left Violet at one of the ubiquitous tearooms for her next engagement. She paused before entering the building, extricating a note from her small handbag.

_My dear Violet,_

_Although I confess myself saddened that I won't see you today, I am happy to know that I will see you tomorrow. I shall call for you at ten o'clock, unless that does not suit. As for the dance, I should think you would be more likely to forget than I. I am gratified to know you haven't._

_Until tomorrow, I remain yours in friendship,_

_Patrick_

Smiling, she tucked the note back into her bag and went into the tearoom.

Tea with Lord Robertson provided Violet with a convenient distraction from her thoughts. She believed that of all her suitors, he probably topped her list as her favorite. He amused her and certainly wasn't unpleasant to look at with his honey-kissed brown hair carefully parted on the side and just long enough to sport a few soft waves. A neatly trimmed mustache grew below his aquiline nose, and his chin reflected it, long and pointed in a way that might have been comical had he carried himself with less self-confidence. The way his smile, with its perfectly straight teeth, always reached his grey eyes when he addressed her pleased Violet, and he had an air of honesty about him that she appreciated. Furthermore, he dressed impeccably and treated her with an almost deferential respect.

But as she continued to converse with him, Violet decided that he might look a fair sight better if his hair had been a darker brown. Or perhaps if his chin were squarer, broad with a cleft. She nodded at something he said, thinking his grey eyes fine, but that they might be finer had they been a velvety brown and surrounded with a dense fringe of dark lashes. Lord Robertson's somewhat gravelly bass voice would be improved by rising to a luxuriant baritone. And perhaps his smile was too perfect; the crooked smile that Patrick –

Violet chastised herself for allowing her musings to go in this direction, comparing her suitor with her friend. Shaking herself mentally, she turned her full attention back to the conversation and tea.

She couldn't seem to stop the comparisons though. For, as respectful as Lord Robertson was, a hampering sense of decorum and what might be appropriate for a "lady" to hear perpetually circumscribed their conversations. Conversations with Patrick, however, never suffered from such (in Violet's mind) nonsense. Certainly some subjects weren't suitable for a tearoom, but Violet never felt that Patrick shied away from anything about which she might want to talk.

With no other man did she feel so much at ease, in fact. Not even Lord Middleton.

Fortunately, it felt like very little time had passed before Lord Robertson was accompanying her home, politely extending his arm and asking when he would see her next. Giving him a day and time, a few days hence, as they'd seen one another three times in as many days – being, in Violet's opinion, a trifle much – she watched as he bent over her hand and gave him a smile before disappearing into the house.

She gave Lord Robertson no more thought that night. Instead, she took out the note from Patrick and couldn't seem to keep a small grin from her lips as she reread it while Fanny dressed her hair for dinner or again as she prepared for bed. Slipping the note into her bedside table drawer along with the others from him, Violet fell asleep with the grin still affixed.

* * *

Over the next five days, Violet and Josephine found themselves with barely time to draw a decent breath, their social calendars and preparations for the ball kept them so busy. Despite this, Violet managed to carve out an hour or two to spend with her friend – Josephine even joining them a couple of those times – each of those days. As her birthday approached, Violet realized that those hours were the ones that she looked forward to most, the ones that buoyed her through the sometimes odious tasks and meetings with some of her other suitors. Those hours with Patrick made her happy.

Social events didn't normally make her nervous, but Violet couldn't seem to stop her hands from shaking as Fanny and Josephine helped her get ready for the evening.

"Dearest," Josephine whispered as she straightened the jeweled combs in her sister's auburn hair, having noticed her trembling. "All will be well." She smiled softly at her sister, kissing her flushed cheek.

"Do you think –" Violet broke off abruptly, biting her lip and lowering her lashes.

"Do I think what?" Josephine brought over Violet's gloves, then rolled her eyes. "Letty, what did I tell you about the lip?"

Unexpectedly to them both, Violet started laughing, her blush deepening. Secretly, she hoped it would save her from having to explain that she'd wondered if Patrick would like her dress.

"Why are you laughing? Do I need to get some champagne up here already to calm you down, Let?"

Violet shook her head as she caught her breath again, brushing careful fingers over the corners of her eyes to wipe away the tears of mirth that had formed there. "No, Pheenie. I'm alright. I just remembered something, er, someone said about my lip biting."

"Someone?" Josephine lifted a brow at her sister. "And, uh, what did this 'someone' say?"

Sticking out her chin in defiance, not realizing how color had flooded not only her face but her neck and chest, Violet answered, "That my little habit is endearing and would make some men _want_ to kiss me."

The brow rose higher as Josephine dug through Violet's jewelry box for appropriate earrings and Fanny finished hooking her dress up the back. "Oh, he did, did he?" A small smile quirked at the corners of her mouth as she located the blue topaz earrings and necklace.

"Who said 'someone' was a 'he'?" Violet's eyes widened. She could go no redder than she already was.

"Oh, you did, Letty. Not in _words_, I'll allow…." She smirked and handed the necklace to Fanny before fastening the earrings on her sister's ears herself.

Violet only just began chewing on her lip again before giggling at the way Patrick had chuckled when telling her a young man might find her habit endearing. Her giggles died away to realize all over again that he probably meant that _he_ found it endearing.

Her shaking returned.

"Letty, please don't." Josephine waved Fanny away and took her sister's hand, stroking the back of her glove with her own. "It'll be a wonderful night. Your night, little love. And you look beautiful. Radiant even." She caressed Violet's face and traced her thumb over her cheekbone, looking into her eyes as if to convey a sense of calm and reassurance.

Violet nodded, letting out a long exhale and closing her eyes.

"Come. Make sure you're satisfied with how we did." Smiling, Josephine, led Violet by the hand to her full-length mirror.

"I – it's lovely, Pheeny. Thank you." Violet returned her sister's smile.

"Time to go down, I think," she said softly. "Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine, dearest." Violet clung to her sister's hand as they departed for the ballroom.

When they arrived, all the guests had assembled. They parted as Violet and Josephine entered and Josephine drew away from her, joining Geoff at the edge of the room. Violet recognized that her father started speaking when she reached him in the center of the dance floor, but what he said, she wouldn't recall. Her eyes swept over Lord Middleton, Lord Robertson, Sir Andrew, and Mr. Byrd, as well as a number of other people, not stopping until they finally found whom they sought.

Patrick.

As her gaze met his, he smiled widely, gratified at her immediate positive response. Patrick barely listened to the birthday speech that Lord Finley pronounced, too intoxicated by the daughter who stood next to him, stunning in an ice blue silk gown shot through with silver and glittering blue topaz jewelry. The color matched her eyes and made them shine.

Violet shined.

A little later, filling out her dance card with the names of suitors who approached her, and saving a place for her father as well, Violet jumped a trifle when she felt a gloved hand touch her elbow.

"Might a friend beg another dance or two from you, Miss Barton," Patrick murmured as he moved to stand in front of her with a smile.

"I think I have a space or two left, Lord Downton," she teased, her eyes bright. "I already have you down for the first dance." Violet flicked her eyes up at him with a grin before looking down at her card once more. "Are you free for the dance right before supper?"

"Yes," he said, not even consulting his card. Save for the first space, it remained empty.

"And, well, will you be staying until the end of the night?" Violet inquired tentatively.

Patrick grinned. "Even if I end up passed out on your settee Miss Barton," he said in a low, conspiratorial voice.

Violet turned bright pink. "Oh! Well, I hope you don't. Because I thought you might enjoy the last dance of the evening?"

"Opening and closing the evening with yours truly?" Patrick let out a rich chuckle as he wrote her down for the dances she'd indicated. "If I didn't know better, I would think you thought of me as more than a friend." He gave her a playful look, but his heart thumped almost painfully in his chest.

"No, my dear friend. It's that my childhood was made happier because you were in it, and now that I've embarked upon womanhood – you've already made that happier as well. For which I'm grateful. I think it only fitting that the ball begins and ends with you."

Patrick beheld her serious expression, despite her flushed cheeks and ears – even down her neck – and nodded with the same solemnity. "Like I said before, and can't seem to say enough: I'm honored. Honored to be your friend and honored to dance with you at all, much less such important dances."

"As it should be," she intoned in a near whisper, her eyes holding his.

Swallowing hard, Patrick merely inclined his head, and, scarcely able to breathe, lifted her hand to kiss the back of her glove. "I'll return shortly," he said. "For the first dance."

All she could do was nod as she watched him walk away from her. A few seconds later Josephine's hand brushed over her arm.

"Violet, might you have a few dances for Geoff?"

"Yes, of course," Violet answered absentmindedly, handing her sister her dance card as her eyes followed Patrick to a knot of young ladies in a corner.

"Letty?" Josephine said, poking her in the arm.

"Hmmm?" Violet asked, unmoving.

"Did you mean to have Patrick down for the first and last dances?"

Violet finally turned to her, her eyes full of fire. "Of course. Do you think I would write him down by mistake?"

"No. I don't. But that's what I'm wondering about…."

Tilting her head, Violet wondered at her sister's enigmatic remark, but decided she'd rather not know. Taking her card back, she looked up as Patrick approached her once more, his hand extended.

"A waltz," he said. "Perfect."

Violet bowed her head as she took his hand, willing herself – without success – not to blush as the music enfolded them in its warm embrace.

As Patrick enfolded her in his embrace, in his smile, for the first dance.


	6. Simply serendipity

"Would it be too forward of an old friend to tell you how truly beautiful you look?" Patrick bent his head forward slightly so Violet might hear him better over the music and chatter surrounding them as they twirled around the dance floor.

"No," she answered, smiling up at him. "In fact, isn't it customary to shower effusive praise – even if perhaps unmerited – upon a young woman at her coming out?"

Patrick chuckled. "Indeed, my dear. Although, I offer you the sincerest assurances that any praise you receive tonight is merited."

"Then I offer you my sincerest thanks." Violet realized she was blushing but could do nothing to stop it.

The pair chatted easily for the rest of the waltz, and Patrick guided her off the floor and to a table. Giving her a small bow and a wide smile, he turned away to find his next partner. As she watched him go, Violet felt a strange pang. Shaking her head, she brushed the feeling away as best as she could and smiled at her new partner.

As the evening really got started, Violet's gaze increasingly sought out Patrick. He danced with Josephine and their mother, and with the ladies Violet knew his own mother urged upon him, and he joined Lord Middleton and Sir Andrew and several others in conversation, seemingly absorbed in the business of socializing. But every-so-often, his and Violet's eyes met across the room, and it was enough to make her breath catch.

For his part, Patrick kept a careful distance, allowing Violet to flirt with her suitors without interruption, knowing she wouldn't appreciate if he clung to her all evening like some love-struck puppy. He wouldn't deny that it cost him dearly to watch them descend upon her between dances – sometimes en mass, at times in smaller groups, and occasionally one by one – but he loved watching her enjoy herself as well. And her eyes turned to him far more than he might have ever hoped.

At the first musicians' break, Lord Robertson led a flushed and perspiring Violet from the floor. "It's rather close in here; might I have your company for a stroll in your gardens?"

Violet grinned at him, nodding. Once outside, she gently steered him toward a cool, secluded alcove with a bench. "We shouldn't be disturbed here."

The grey-eyed man kept her hand in his even after they sat, lowering his eyes with a slight cough. "Since we have little chance of being overheard, I wonder if I could ask you an impertinent question, Miss Barton."

Ordinarily, Violet would have snatched her hand away and told him that, no, he couldn't ask her an impertinent question. However, she found herself intrigued, since he'd never said nor asked her anything insolent before. What could he have in mind to ask her now? "I think you could, my lord. But only with the understanding that I may not answer." She softened the reply with a smile.

Lord Robertson didn't smile when he looked up. Instead he tilted his head, his forehead puckered. "Is Lord Downton courting you?"

Violet's smile faded and warmth flooded her cheeks. She was happy for the shadows of the alcove. "Why do you ask that? What would make you think so?"

"Well, I'm not a vain man, but, to be completely frank, Miss Barton, I had thought that you might favor me. I was surprised when I inquired about your first dance that you'd already given it away to Lord Downton. And the way he looks at you –"

Choked giggles disrupted his speech, and Lord Robertson's eyes snapped up from where they'd eventually landed upon her throat.

"I apologize, my lord. It's just that Lord Downton is a childhood friend, and we've only recently been reacquainted. He's not a suitor. Just a friend of our family." She shrugged and shook her head, blinking at him with a small smile. "That's all."

Even as Lord Robertson began to grin at her, Violet felt the same pang she had earlier; it felt, well, wrong somehow to say that Patrick was a friend of the family and nothing more. But she couldn't think why.

And in the next moment, Violet had trouble thinking at all. For Lord Robertson leaned closer to her and said, "In that case, may I ask one more impertinent question?"

"The same caveat applies, my lord."

Leaning even closer, he whispered, "May I kiss you, Miss Barton?"

Violet only just stopped herself from biting her lip as she colored from collar bone to hairline. She had been curious about this kissing business for a while now, hearing Josephine wax poetic about it ad nauseam. And she liked Lord Robertson well enough, didn't she? Nodding, she closed her eyes and waited.

He squeezed her hand slightly just before his lips met hers. The press of the kiss was gentle, his mustache brushing above her lip – a curious sensation to Violet, but not necessarily unpleasant. His mouth moved a trifle against hers, and her own puckered in an involuntary response before he finally pulled away. When she opened her eyes a few seconds later, Lord Robertson was smiling at her, evidently pleased.

Returning his smile, Violet only had time to think that she wasn't sure why Josephine had made such a fuss about kissing before the grey-eyed man lifted his hand and brushed it over her cheek, cupping her face tenderly.

The intimacy of the gesture took her aback, a stone dropping into the pit of her stomach. She drew away with an apologetic look. "I think we should go back inside, my lord."

His hand still raised to where he'd just been touching her, Lord Robertson nodded, standing and helping her to rise. "I hope I didn't frighten you," he said to her as they strolled back toward the house.

"No, Lord Robertson. You didn't," she responded in a quiet voice.

And he hadn't. Not in the way he thought. Yes, he had unnerved her. To that she would admit. It was one thing for their lips to meet in a kiss she'd expected, had meant as mere flirtation. It was another for him to touch her in a way reserved for loved ones – and for lovers. Such familiarity from him couldn't be borne. Not yet at least.

* * *

Patrick watched Violet return to the ballroom on the arm of Lord Robertson, his spirits sinking until he apprehended the drooping of her mouth. The other man parted from her with a kiss to her hand. As no one else seemed to have noticed Violet's reappearance, Patrick decided to seize the opportunity, concerned for her, since she'd been so happy previously.

Stepping close to where she stood by her table, Patrick said in a low voice, "Violet, are you alright?"

Her smile was pained. "I am fine."

"I couldn't help seeing how sad you looked when you came in just now," he pressed further.

"Not sad. No. Simply a little confused." Violet cast her eyes down to her hands and chewed upon her bottom lip.

Hesitating a moment, Patrick reached over and touched the back of her hand, making her raise her head to meet his eyes. "Would you tell me?"

When she smiled this time, it reached her eyes and lit them up. She shook her head briefly. "It's nothing to worry over, Patrick," she replied softly.

"Are you certain?"

She felt a comforting brushing of his fingers through her glove. Nodding, she let out a short sigh. "Yes. I'm certain."

"Then I'll leave you to finish catching your breath before the next dance." He removed his hand from hers and turned to go.

In a louder voice, Violet said, "Lord Downton, won't you stay here and talk to me a while? I've barely seen you all evening."

Spinning back around, Patrick grinned. "I'd enjoy that, Miss Barton. May I bring you something to drink?"

"Yes, please. Champagne?" Pink tinged her cheeks.

Inclining his head in assent, he intercepted a footman and brought back two flutes of champagne. They sat together, and in no time at all the sparkle had returned to Violet's eyes.

Soon Violet had put the unnerving incident with Lord Robertson behind her and – with great help from Patrick – began thoroughly enjoying her ball again. She even took great delight in dancing with all her partners, no matter who they were (Lord Robertson included; after all, he executed the polka with the least pain to her toes, save Patrick). She laughed and tippled champagne, flirted with her suitors and shared gossip with the other young ladies.

But her favorite bits of the evening – just like her favorite bits of the past five days – were those spent with Patrick. They waltzed again before supper, he leaning close to her again so she could hear him clearly.

She delighted that their friendship appeared so solidly in place and that he could be happy again.

Toward the end of the evening, couples and family groups began to say their goodnights between dances, exhaustion overcoming them. Finally, only the last dance remained, and, while a good number of people still persevered to the end of the ball, it was much easier to breathe on the dance floor this time. Although she hadn't planned it, Violet blushed to realize that this dance would again be a waltz; she blushed all the more to realize that she'd begun to think of it as _their_ dance.

As he led her around the floor, Patrick held her a bit closer than was strictly necessary. But instead of becoming incensed, Violet smiled at him and slid her left hand nearer his collar. This time, they didn't speak, they simply danced.

After the music finished, Patrick bent over her hand, kissing it, his eyes fixed to hers. When he stood straight again, he inquired tentatively, "May I be permitted to remain for a while, Miss Barton? I'll wait until you've said goodnight to your guests. I thought we could take a walk in the garden…?"

Violet grinned and blushed. "I think that would be alright, Lord Downton. I shouldn't be very long."

She swept out of the room to resume her place by the door for goodnights – but not before casting a glance behind her to Patrick.

In the meantime, Patrick went to find his father. He met him exiting the room the Bartons had designated as the men's dressing room, his hat and gloves in his hand. "Ready, son?"

"No; you and Mama go ahead. I'll walk home."

Lord Grantham's forehead creased. "Miss Whitlock has already departed, and so have most of the other young ladies you're pursuing. Why ever would you stay?"

Patrick's face flushed a trifle, and he cleared his throat gently, looking down at his feet, his hands clasped together behind him.

Suddenly, he felt his father's hand close around his upper arm and snapped his head up in slight alarm as Lord Grantham dragged him into the now empty men's dressing room. The fingers tightened around his arm, and Patrick couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his father's brow so thunderous.

"Now you listen to me, Patrick Crawley," he said, his voice deceptively calm with its low rumble. "Friends of the family they may be, but Lord Finley cannot provide a dowry for his daughters that will give Downton the funds necessary to secure its future. Don't let how comfortable we are fool you, son. One bad year, one investment going bust, one false move by our manager, and the estate – _your_ inheritance – will fall down around us. So you have to take a wife with some means of her own. These Barton girls are off-limits, boy. Do you understand me?"

Patrick's own temper rose throughout this speech. He'd had enough. "I am not a boy, Papa; I am a man. And I don't believe that I should be made to pay for your mistakes! Besides, if you didn't spend exorbitant amounts on wine and horses – on that mistress everyone knows you keep – and if you didn't let Mama spend whatever she likes on clothes and furniture because you're mollifying her anger over your indiscretion, perhaps the estate would have the security you say it needs!"

Lord Grantham gaped at his son even as his face grew purple with rage. "Patr-"

"No! I won't listen to any more of it! I'm done hearing it! And I'll be home when I'm damned well ready to be!" Shooting his father one last venomous glance, Patrick turned on his heel and marched out of the room, his fists clenched at his sides to contain his ire.

Going back to the ballroom, Patrick paced up and down the dance floor while the musicians packed away their instruments and the footmen cleared away glasses. Violet finally returned, a smile on her face. The smile faded from her lips as she beheld how agitated he was, and her eyes widened with concern.

"Patrick? What's the matter?"

He said nothing as he took her by the hand and pulled her out of the room – not roughly but certainly insistently – hoping not to run into either of their fathers. Fortunately they encountered no one on their way out to the garden and down the path to the same shadowy alcove Violet had visited earlier that evening. For Patrick knew it just as well as she did.

"Please, Patrick. Tell me what's wrong," she pleaded once they'd reached the bench and she could draw a proper breath.

Taking her other hand in his so he held both of them, he gazed down at her. Even in half shadow Violet could see the fire sparking from his brown eyes and the red in his face. "I'm not about to let my family ruin this. One word from you, Violet, one word, and I'll be silenced forever. But if you give me even the smallest hope that I have a chance, then you can be assured that I'll fight them tooth and nail."

"You gave me your word, Patrick," she whispered, her face going white and – even worse for Patrick – tears gathering on her lashes. "You said you would accept being friends."

"Do you really just want to be friends, Violet? Can you say, after all the time we've spent together this week – not to mention practically our whole lives – that you'll be content to remain only friends? That it won't upset you to see me married to someone else?" He held her gaze, his anger at his parents – at her continued stubbornness in refusing to see what he saw so clearly – still making his pulse race and his head pound.

Violet stared at him, her own heart drumming hard against her ribs and her bodice rising and falling perceptibly in her attempt to keep breathing even as his words rendered her breathless. She blinked against tears, bewildered and feeling blindsided by this sudden turn. "I – I don't –" Rending her eyes from his, she averted her head and bit her lip.

The gesture proved too much for him to take. Having no care anymore about the outcome – didn't it seem she'd decided against him already? It couldn't get any worse, right? – he tugged her forward and captured her top lip between his own.

Startled, Violet dragged her teeth back from her bottom lip and closed her eyes as he kissed her fully on the mouth, tilting his head and parting her lips even more with his own. Releasing one of her hands, he brought his up to rest upon her neck, sliding his fingers around to its nape and pulling her even closer.

A gasp escaped the back of her throat as he continued to crush their lips together, an earnestness and hunger there she'd never realized could be in such an action. Hardly knowing what she was doing, Violet lifted her free hand, her fingers sinking into the back of his hair, her only regret at the moment being that she still had on her gloves and couldn't feel its texture on her skin.

After his lips tugged gently upon her bottom one, he turned his head to kiss her from another angle and knotted their fingers together, encouraged by her tender touch upon his head, the way her body leaned into his so that he even felt her heartbeat, her bosom heaving against his chest through their clothes.

Brought back to her senses by Patrick's guttural groan, Violet broke the kiss, stepping back from him and pulling her hand away. She gaped at him, unable to grasp what had just happened. Patrick merely stood in front of her, no sign of rage present in his visage, only a mixture of sheepishness, a sliver of hope, and much more despair.

"I – you – " she stuttered, astounded by the realization that she now thought she understood her sister's enthusiasm for kissing. She didn't mean for her voice to rise in pitch, but the past several minutes made it difficult to control such things. "Just what did you think you were going to accomplish by doing that?"

Patrick shrugged. "I wasn't trying to accomplish anything. It's only that I couldn't leave here, dismissed by you, not having done that." He closed his eyes and bowed his head, muttering, "It was better than I ever imagined."

Violet inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly, endeavoring to calm herself. "Patrick, we've been over this; there's nothing for it. Your parents wouldn't hear of it, and my parents would side with yours. Besides, our temperaments are too different – we wouldn't get along very well."

His lashes fluttered open, and he took a step to close the distance she'd put between them, gratified that she didn't move away, but tilted her head upward to meet his steady gaze. Patrick raised his hand, caressing her cheek with his gloved palm. "I don't care about our parents. And I'm not asking for anything but a chance. Just a chance."

Suddenly, Violet remembered back to a few hours ago, her reaction when Lord Robertson had kissed her and then cupped her face in his hand. But when Patrick did it – it felt right. She shut her eyes and leaned into his caress, a tiny sigh escaping her lips before she even knew what she did. When she opened her eyes again, they alighted on Patrick's tender smile, his countenance full of hope once more.

"Patrick, it'll end before it begins," she said softly, her cheek still nestled in the palm of his hand. "The moment our parents find out it'll be over. How am I to give you a chance that way?"

His heart felt like it might burst through his chest. "Then we'll have to keep it a secret. Under the façade of being just friends. We keep playing the game otherwise, and you have the power to say the word at any time if you decide irrevocably that it won't work between us." He held his breath, hardly daring to think his obstinate Violet would agree to a clandestine courtship.

Violet bit her lip as she pondered this scheme, Patrick thinking she'd drive him wild wanting to kiss her again. The seconds stretched into minutes, and Patrick's face began to fall. He withdrew his hand from her face and bowed his head. But as he started to step away from her, Violet grasped his hand in hers. "No. Don't go," came her voice that reminded him once again of Chianti – rich and full.

Looking up, he saw that her indecision had disappeared, replaced by a smile and a blush, her blue eyes lit from within. "Violet," he breathed.

"Don't go," she whispered, weaving her fingers through his and lifting her chin as she gazed at him. "At least, not until you've kissed me again."

Patrick grinned at her, bending his head down to oblige her, reveling in the feel of her touch on his chin, his neck, and the back of his head. Deepening the kiss this time, running his tongue along her parted lips before letting it dart into her mouth, he stilled for a few seconds at her gasp of surprise. Then, as she seemed to be waiting for him to take the lead, he repeated the action, initiating her into the pleasures of this type of kissing. But it was only when he ended the kiss and bent lower to press his lips to her sweet-smelling throat and she sighed out his name that he truly felt undone.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, his breath warm on her skin.

Delightful chills danced up Violet's spine at this. "It's getting late," she intoned softly, dragging her fingers slowly through his hair.

Placing another gentle kiss to her throat, he raised his head and touched her face, smiling. "I haven't given you your gift yet."

Violet chuckled. "You needn't have gotten me a gift."

"Of course I did. It's your birthday – and your eighteenth no less. Besides, why did you think I stayed behind?" He dug his fingers into his inside jacket pocket, extracting a small box.

"I had thought this kissing had something to do with it." She raised an eyebrow, then trained her eyes on the box.

"No. Not originally. That was simply serendipity." Patrick held the gift out to her.

With a little sigh of resignation, she grinned at him and opened the box to reveal an amethyst brooch in the shape of a flower. "Patrick, it's beautiful." Standing on tiptoe, she brushed a kiss over his cheek, making him color. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Running fingers over her cheekbone, he murmured, "Will I get to see you tomorrow?"

She nodded. "I'll send you a note in the morning."

Patrick kissed her briefly, sweetly, one more time before leading her back to the house and taking his leave, and Violet hastened up the stairs to see if her sister had gone to bed yet.

She had to report to her how much she enjoyed kissing.


	7. The only one to kiss you

As it turned out, Josephine sat in wait for Violet in the latter's bedroom, dressed for bed and watching Fanny ready Violet's night dress and straighten her room. When Violet entered, she couldn't keep an excited grin from her face, and Josephine tilted her head at her sister, suspecting something had happened.

"There you are, Pheenie. I looked in your bedroom first," Violet said, flicking her eyes at Fanny and sounding as flustered as Josephine had ever heard.

"Letty…" Josephine slowly swung her legs off the chaise and planted her feet on the floor, leaning forward with her hands on either side of her on the blue upholstery.

Violet gave her sister a slight shake of the head, her eyes darting to Fanny again. Making her way toward the maid to be undressed, Violet bent her head to kiss Josephine's cheek, murmuring, "Pas devant les domestiques," in her ear. She placed the small box containing Patrick's gift on her dressing table without comment, hoping her sister would leave it for later.

Josephine's brows rose as she watched Fanny take Violet's gloves and fan from her to put away before beginning to unhook the multitude of tiny fastenings on the back of her dress. It had to be something quite momentous for Violet to be unwilling to discuss it in front of their maid. Clearing her throat, Josephine said, "Well, I have something to tell you anyway."

Her eyes snapping up to meet her sister's, hearing the underlying excitement in her voice, Violet beheld Josephine's sudden blush and wide smile. "No… Pheenie, did he -?"

An emphatic nod met Violet's inquiry, and, as Josephine stood, Fanny squeaked in protest, Violet having launched herself at her sister. Embracing her closely, Josephine kept nodding. "I knew he would at some point, but until he asked me…. Oh, little love, I'm so happy."

"And I'm so happy for you, dearest." Violet drew back, stepping away to take her sister's hand and examine her engagement ring. "But this means you'll be leaving me."

Josephine chuckled. "Not for many months. Geoff and I thought perhaps November for the wedding."

As the pair chatted about the proposal and wedding plans and the evening in general, Fanny going about her duties while they did, Violet's mind kept wandering to Patrick – their kisses, his touch upon her face and nape of her neck, their fingers entwined, his lips on her throat, his murmured endearments – and she had trouble keeping cool, warmth suffusing her face and down over her chest. Fanny, fortunately, said nothing, probably attributing her younger mistress' flush to the exhilaration of the evening. But Violet knew Josephine simply bided her time until the maid would be sent away in order to pounce.

And pounce she did; as soon as Fanny shut the door behind her, her arms laden with petticoats and other linens, Josephine sidled up behind Violet's chair and slid her arms around her neck from behind. Resting her chin on Violet's auburn head, she stared at her in the mirror. "So?"

Violet lifted her eyes to Josephine's and grinned, her face aflame. "I'm not certain where to begin, actually."

"Letty! Tell me everything!" She came around to the side and tugged on Violet's hands, pulling her up and to the chaise so they could sit facing one another.

Starting with the first kiss of the evening from Lord Robertson, Violet told her sister everything. Josephine's face transformed from surprise to disappointment and into pure elation. But then, after Violet brought over the brooch for her to see, a crease appeared upon her brow.

Setting the box next to her, she asked, "But, Violet, won't he get jealous? Or – might you get jealous? If you're still seeing your suitors, and he's seeing those young ladies?"

She took Josephine's left hand in hers and brushed her fingers over it, her eyes fixed on the engagement ring. "I don't know. I hadn't thought about that."

"Are you going to let the others kiss you?"

"I – don't want to. Not after Patrick –" She stopped and turned crimson. "But we have to keep up the pretense, don't we? Lord Robertson already asked me about Patrick, remember? And that was before any of this…." She sighed heavily.

"Oh, Letty." Josephine pulled her sister into a hug, Violet's head upon her shoulder, and stroked a hand over her hair.

"Despite what I said to Patrick, about our not being suited to one another –" She paused, shaking her head. "I care for him, Pheenie," she whispered. "I want to see what happens. But I can't unless we can keep it hidden from Mama and Papa – and especially from _his_ parents."

"So you went from insisting you two were 'only friends' to this in the course of a few hours?" Josephine let out a low chuckle. "That must have been one incredible kiss."

"Pheenie!" Violet exclaimed, but giggled, giving her middle a teasing squeeze.

"Pardon me," she said. "_Two _incredible kisses."

Violet giggled again. "They were. I don't even know how to describe it."

Josephine dropped a kiss on her sister's head. "There's always an element of that at the core of the best ones."

Tilting her head up so she could look at Josephine, she asked her in a serious, low voice, "You won't tell anyone, will you? Not even Geoff?"

"No." She kept stroking Violet's hair and shook her head solemnly. "Not even Geoff. And I'll help you keep your secret if I can."

Violet nuzzled her head into her sister's neck, sighing contentedly. "I love you, Pheenie." She paused before adding, "You were right."

Josephine laughed lightly – though she didn't take this admission of Violet's lightly. "About what, pray tell, Letty?"

"Patrick."

Her nearly inaudible breathing of his name over her clavicle made Josephine's heart leap for the pair. "You don't know how happy I am to be right about such a thing, dearest."

Violet didn't answer, but nestled more securely against her sister – thankful to have her and pushing away the thought that, before the year was out, her dearest companion would be married and living elsewhere.

Because if she thought about it too much, she knew she'd be unable to bear it.

* * *

Within seconds of waking, a wide grin curled upon Patrick's face. _Violet_, he thought, feeling that even his heart beat her name against the inside of his chest.

Sunlight reached into the room, having climbed farther up the walls than Patrick was used to seeing when he woke. But he'd had a difficult time getting to sleep the night before. His mind wouldn't turn off, and he'd simply ridden the waves of its fancy until exhaustion finally claimed him for its own.

He wondered if she'd slept well. He wondered if she'd told anyone what had happened. He wondered when her note would arrive – and what it would say.

He wondered if his father would notice if he skipped breakfast.

Patrick decided he didn't care. Getting up, he rang for his valet, wondering why Masters hadn't arrived earlier. He rubbed his eyes and reached into his desk drawer, pulling out the few notes from Violet, even the sight of her handwriting making him smile.

At the sound of his door opening, he shoved the messages into the drawer, shutting it hastily.

"Pardon, Lord Downton," Masters said with a bow of the head. "I attempted to wake you earlier, but it was to no avail." His deep voice rolled across the room. Then he held out an envelope. "This came a few moments ago, my lord."

Keeping himself from bounding across the room, Patrick nonetheless hurried to the valet and took the envelope from him. The handwriting alone was enough to tell him it was from Violet.

"Might you prepare a bath, Masters?"

The valet coughed genteely. "Breakfast is –"

Patrick shook his head as he interrupted, his eyes still fastened upon the envelope. "No, no. I don't mean to eat breakfast today. The bath, please."

Masters inclined his head. "Of course, your lordship."

Making sure Masters had gone to prepare the bath, Patrick grabbed his letter opener and attacked the seal upon the envelope. As he read, he grinned wider, his eyes shining.

_My dear – yes, I write it most deliberately this way – Patrick,_

_I think that you could visit Finley House this morning – or early afternoon. I have no engagements, although Mama and Papa do. Josephine is here for the morning, but – oh, Patrick, I hope you don't mind, but I had to tell her. She'll keep our secret. And she'll help us. She would never betray us. Please don't be upset with me for telling her…._

_And please come see me today. I couldn't sleep last night, for I couldn't stop thinking of you._

_Yours in affection,  
__Violet_

Patrick dashed off a note to let her know he'd call at mid-morning and, once Masters returned to tell him the bath was ready, entrusted the message to his valet to give to Collins the butler while he had a long soak.

After Masters helped him dress, Patrick stole down the stairs and to the front door, hoping that his parents busied themselves elsewhere so he wouldn't be stopped. Letting out a sigh of relief, he whistled as he walked down the pavement to Finley House.

Violet tried to sit on the settee and pay attention to her book, tried not to act like a giddy girl waiting for her paramour. She tried and failed, looking up at the doorway every two minutes and fidgeting. It wouldn't do to run continually to the door; she didn't want even the servants to suspect their… arrangement? Violet furrowed her brow as she thought about what to call it. "Courtship" sounded too formal – although she supposed that's what it was –

"The Viscount Downton, Miss Violet," came Rutledge's announcement from the doorway. He stepped aside to let a grinning Patrick into the room.

Her own grin reflected his, and her cheeks grew even pinker than they'd been before. As Patrick approached her, she said, "How pleasant to see you, Lord Downton."

"I wanted to make sure you didn't wear through the soles of your pretty slippers from the dancing last night, Miss Barton," he replied, watching her eyes follow Rutledge from the room. Once her gaze had returned to his face, he took her hand and whispered, "May I kiss you, Violet?"

"Not here, Patrick." The blush now reached under the collar of her dress and to the edges of her ears. "Someone could see." Seeing him nod and the corners of his mouth droop, and hearing his somewhat disappointed sigh, Violet pressed his hand. "But we can take a walk in the gardens."

At this, his expression cleared, and he laced their fingers together before lifting her hand to kiss the back of it.

"Patrick," she admonished softly, tugging her fingers from between his. "In a moment." Lowering her lashes and smiling, she stepped around him so he would follow her from the room and out into the garden.

Once they'd gotten to a relatively secluded portion – high hedges and hidden turns – Violet looked behind her and extended her hand back for him to take, smiling. As their fingers intertwined again, she laughed and picked up her pace, leading him to an even more sheltered nook.

Just as she turned around to him, Patrick sealed his lips to hers, resting his free hand on her neck and grazing his thumb on the underside of her jaw tenderly. Stepping closer, Violet slid her arm around his neck, pulling him closer and encouraging him to kiss her harder. And for several breathtaking minutes, the pair stood entwined this way, Violet's fingers traveling up into his dark hair and he letting go of her hand only to steal his arm about her waist, fingertips bearing into the small of her back.

When she sighed his name upon his lips, it sent an especially heady thrill through him, from head to toe. Patrick's lips trailed down and back over her throat to the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. As she gasped in surprise at the incredible sensation this stirred up in her, he wrapped his other arm around her middle and lifted her up against him, picking her up off her feet.

"Patrick!" she shrieked in astonishment before laughing and twining her arms tighter about his neck.

"Ouch, Violet!" He chuckled, drawing his head away. "You'll have me deaf within a week if you keep responding like that." He smirked at her and held her firmly in his embrace, her feet dangling just above his own.

"I do apologize. I wouldn't want that." She grinned back at him, combing gentle fingers through his hair. After the initial shock, Violet found herself even more astounded to realize that it felt the most natural thing in the world to be pressed up against Patrick thus – natural, and yet exceedingly exciting.

Bending his head forward, Patrick nibbled along Violet's throat, loving when she tilted her head back and sighed happily. "I've been wanting to kiss you like this for so long," he whispered into her skin.

"We kissed last night, Patrick," she pointed out mildly. "Although I'll admit that one reason I couldn't sleep was thinking how much I wanted you to kiss me again." Another blush bloomed on her cheeks.

Pulling back to look at her, he shook his head a trifle, holding her gaze and smiling tenderly. "No, that's not what I meant. Of course, it's true…." He gave her another light kiss upon the lips, then met her eyes again. "But I've wanted to kiss you for years, my sweet Violet. I never got up the courage; I knew you wouldn't want me to."

Violet contemplated him silently for a moment, their eyes on the same level, still save for her fingers continuing to play with his hair. Then she said, "I want you to now." She leaned her head forward until her forehead pressed against his, and she closed her eyes. "Kiss me," she whispered.

In answer, Patrick rubbed his lips gently over hers, relishing how soft they were, then parted them with his own, kissing her in earnest, lost completely within the act. And when she let out an almost imperceptible moan, he responded by breathing "Violet" into her mouth.

After a satisfying interval, Violet smiled at him. "Your arms must be hurting."

"No, not a bit. But if you'd rather I put you down, I will." He ran a hand over her side.

"I thought we could talk. It might be easier if we sat together." Her fingers kept threading through his dark hair.

"Anything you wish, darling."

Smiling, he set her down carefully and withdrew his arms. Patrick took her by the hand and sat down with her on a nearby bench.

"I have some news to tell you," she said, grinning. Wringing his hand lightly, she told him about Josephine's engagement, and how they had discussed a possible November wedding. Then, thinking about the rest of her conversation with her sister, she cast her eyes down, her brow puckering slightly. "I wrote to you that I told Josephine," she started in a low voice.

"Yes. There's nothing wrong with that. It seems perfectly natural you should tell her, Violet." His eyebrows drew together in concern, knowing something must be upsetting her.

She didn't lift her head. "Pheenie brought my attention to a few things, Patrick. About our agreement."

"What things?" he asked, shaking his head in confusion.

Slowly, she raised her head to fix her eyes to his. "We're supposed to play the game; those were your words. So we don't rouse suspicion."

"Right…." He tilted his head at her, no less bewildered.

"Well," she continued, taking a deep breath to steel herself, "won't you get jealous?"

As her question sank in, he blinked at her, unsure how to answer.

In the meantime, she lowered her lashes again, a crimson flush spreading over her face and neck. "It's just that I know it will be difficult for me to see you with the others. Even though I know you don't care for them." She brushed feather-light touches over the backs of his fingers.

"It – it will?" Patrick stuttered out, his brown eyes wide.

Her head snapped up, and she squeezed his hand between her two as blue flames flared in her eyes. "Do you think I will enjoy having to see you pretend to be interested in their charms? To watch those insipid creatures flirt with you?"

Her annoyance made him shake his head. "No, but – Violet, I wasn't implying that you would. It simply took me aback to hear you admit for the first time that you might get jealous."

"Well, I will. If we do this well enough, no one should suspect that you have any feelings for me whatsoever besides friendship. But that means you have to look as if you find them interesting. Especially Miss Whitlock." She'd averted her eyes and now began chewing on her bottom lip. Then, before he could reply, she added in irritation, "Really, Patrick, don't you think this means something to me? To risk our parents' disapproval?"

"Please, my dear, don't get upset." He enclosed her hand within his and brought it to his lips. "And if it will be difficult for you to see me with those women, it will be ten times as difficult for me to see you with those men. To see them touch your hand or dance with you, that they should make you laugh or earn one of your beautiful smiles…. Violet, I've already been jealous of them. Perhaps it will be easier, knowing I get to see you in secret at least, to be the only one to kiss you."

Patrick's smile faded somewhat when he realized that Violet had looked away again, her eyes nearly closed, and gnawed on her lip with a vengeance. He gaped at her.

"Why do you look like that?" he inquired, unsure he wanted to know the answer.

She drew away from him, pulling her hand from his and wrapping her arms loosely about her waist.

"Violet? Please tell me what's wrong. I'll try to control my jealously –"

"It's not that," Violet interjected, shaking her head and letting out a profound sigh. She wondered if she should tell him about Lord Robertson. "I – I may have to kiss someone else." She found herself unable to look at his face.

Patrick started back a little. "But, why?" He could feel a flame of jealousy and anger – and, yes, fear – uncurl within his abdomen. "Do you _want_ to kiss someone else?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"No," Violet said with an emphatic shake of her head, dislodging a few of the looser curls from her coiffure. She turned toward him, sliding her hand into his once more. "No. I don't. But, Patrick, I might have to. To keep up the façade."

The flame leapt up into his chest, burning his lungs; he could scarcely draw breath. "Violet, you never have to kiss anyone you don't want to; there's no reason for that, even in all this business of courting and suitors. A kiss is a prized favor, not something necessarily expected. At least, it shouldn't be if the suitor is honorable."

She could see she was going to have to tell him. She couldn't have him find out another way. Violet felt ashamed, even if she knew she shouldn't; Lord Robertson had kissed her before she and Patrick had come to their understanding. Patrick would have to accept it. Squaring her shoulders, she looked him in the eye and told him. "Lord Robertson already kissed me."

Hardly knowing what he was doing, the flame licking as far as his esophagus now, filling him with fire, he bounded up from the bench and stood to face her, his eyes alive with the sparks. "When?"

"What does it matter when?" she asked in an indignant voice, an edge of hurt in her tone. "Are you accusing me of letting him kiss me after you did?"

Her words – and the underlying hurt – doused the flames that had risen up in him. Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb, wondering how things had spiraled downward so quickly. Removing his hand from his face, he knelt down in front of Violet and rested a hand on either side of her on the bench, seeing as how she'd crossed her arms tightly over her chest, still half-scowling at him. "Darling, I'm sorry. I would never accuse you of that."

Keeping her arms crossed, Violet set her jaw stubbornly. "It was before you kissed me. And that's all that matters. Can you say you haven't kissed any of those young ladies before?"

"No," he admitted quietly, flinching at her "I thought not" expression. "But, Violet, I still don't see how you would have to kiss anyone you don't want to. I'm –" He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "I apologize. I know I have no exclusive claim to you. You said you would give me a chance, nothing more." He opened his eyes and looked into hers. "I suppose I should recognize that, apart from the furtive nature of our courtship, I'm no different from the rest. And if you want to let them kiss you – then I won't stop you. I won't like it; but I won't stop you."

As she listened, Violet's arms loosened, and her face softened, her hands eventually resting palms up on her lap. She swallowed, unable to say anything.

"And I want you to know that I won't kiss anyone else." He slipped his hands into hers, his heart giving a leap when her fingers curled around them, clasping them tightly. "I don't want to. Now that I get to kiss you, nothing else can ever compare. You're the only one I want to kiss, Violet."

Violet nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You're the only one I want to kiss, Patrick. And you _are _different from the rest." Leaning forward, she put her lips close to his ear and whispered, "Lord Robertson's kiss left me wondering what the fuss was all about. But now I know." She pressed a small kiss to his skin, on his jaw just in front of his ear, making Patrick's eyes close and breath catch.

Getting up, Patrick sat next to her again, his hands still enclosed in hers. "We'll just have to do our best not to get jealous about the rest, right?" He gently extracted one of his hands and twisted one of her loosened red curls around his fingers and smiled at her.

"Right." Violet sidled closer. "We still have time before luncheon, Patrick. What would you like to do?"

"I'll do anything you desire, sweetheart." He loved how her hair felt upon his fingers and longed to be able to bury his hands in it, to know how it felt for it to fall across his face in a shimmering, fragrant, auburn curtain.

"Might you kiss me again?" She blushed, even appeared somewhat sheepish for asking.

Patrick nodded, grinning, before bending his head to kiss Violet once more.


End file.
